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Full text of "Wordeater"

TABLE OF CONTENTS 






Michael Stillraan 
Laura Lauth 
Janet Valek 
Judy Belfield 

Maureen Whitmer 
Marsha Kline 
Judy Belfield 
Jennifer Hunt 
Maureen Whitmer 
Jennifer Hunt 
Laura Lauth 
J. D. Guse 
Judy Belfield 
Michael Stillnan 
Judy Belfield 



Julie O'Connell 
Pat Bohler 
Judy Belfield 

Laura Lauth 
Val Breuch 
Judy Belfield 
Maureen Whitmer 
Pat Mulder 
Val Breuch 
J . D . Gus e 
Colleen Maloney 
Jason Coleman 
Pat Mulder 
Marsha Kline 
Brad Hayes 
J. D. Guse 
Ton Madai 
Jason Coleman 
Jennifer Hunt 

Julie O'Connell 

Pat Bohler 

Marge Peterson 
J. D. Guse 

Marsha Kline 
Judy Belfield 
Maureen Whitmer 
Ruth Reynolds 
Judy Belfield 
Pat Bohler 
Jason Coleman 
Rowena Youngblood 
Colleen Moloney 
Judy Belfield 
Cheryl Komiuszy 
Janet Valek 
Jennifer Hunt 
Judy Belfield 

Laura Lauth 
Judy Belfield 
Jason Coleman 
Judy Belfield 
Jason Coleman 
J. D. Guse 
Kevin Jordan 
.t -..■:,-> ;i Cofbeman 



Plot Sub-Plot 1 

Card XVIII: La Lune 2 

Screw Conformity. .... 

Even If You Do Have the Money, Honey 

Stop Or I'll Shoe 

Of Sodom and Gomorrah ....... 3 

Moonlight Madness ... 4 

Sometimes at night . 5 

A Tour of Crianna 

The Boundaries of the Flesh 6 

In the Green Meadow ..... 8 

I'd Like to Tell a Story (Ballad) 9 

Insatiable Urges 

Rhythmic Pulsations . 

I Fall into the Sky of Her Blue Eyes 

She Looks at Him in the Red Glow. ...... 10 

Don't Tread on Red ........ 

When All the Pain Had Ended 

Love Fell Over and Broke Itself 

A Story About Passin' On 11 

Doppelganger 

Get Out on the Highway 12 

Diffused and Haloed Glow Behind Her Hair. . . 

The Cocktail Hour 13 

Desolate . . 

Bunnies Bunnies Everywhere. ... 15 

Empty Dawns • 

Small Chances 16 

The Pen is Mightier 17 

My Beautiful Friend ..... l8 

To Tell A Lie 

Ode to a Wooleyworm .....19 

Kline's Kolumn •• 

Quiet Crossfire 

Wild Blue Horizons .20 

Off the Beaten Path 

Cult of Gods Beyond 21 

The Christmas Gift 22 

Swishi Swish'. 24 

This Story Has No Title 25 

Dreams 27 

NarPy, Wife of John 

Then How? 

Flowing Rivers .......... 

The Lodge ... 28 

I'm Cat chin the First Bus Outta Here 29 

Joy Ride 30 

She Calls Collect 32 

Strawberry Season ... 

Nancy, Wife of John - II J>h 

Yoga. . 35 

This Child Need Her Father 

What To Do? 

It's Laundry-Roundup Time .......... 36 

Z's Please 

Small Advice 37 

Prisoner. .. 

My Wit 

Deadlock ^S 

The Geese Make Lines in the Sunset Sky . . . kO 

Poetry Pour Le Bain 

Perception 

Honk.y- Tonkin Rhythm , 4l 

thwarted Writer (A Palindrome) 

Ignorance Is Bliss 

Homo Ferox 43 

Hhevwood U.S. A 44 







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1>l« JOISTS 



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II 



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Judy Bel field 

Even If You Do Have the Money, Honey . . • 

I have no time to spend on you today. 

I've searched my empty pockets through and through 

And cannot find a minute there for you. 

Like lots of pennies lost along the way, 

Grabbed up by strangers, stashed without delay, 

The seconds dropped from holes too large and few 

In secret places, worn, no longer new: 

They're gone forever, now I cannot pay 

The debt to you; I cannot pay, I say I 

No time, too bad, no time, no time for you, 

No dime, no nickel, Lincoln-head *r two. 

I've spent or lost it all in foolish play, 

Like wasting it by writing verse this way — 

And I've no time to spend on you today. 



Laura Lauth Janet Valek 

Card XVIII: LaLune Screw Conformity 

The ribbons in his hat are: Conformity prevents creativity 

A. Yellow Conformity prevents flexibility 

B. "-Blue Therefore insight does not come about. 

C. Everything looks grey in the Conformity enforces rigidity •, 
moonlight Rigid ss a nice, symmetrical cube. \ 

She is standing on: Why does everything have to be so neat, 

A. a balcony Everything in its proper place? 

B. her honor Why does one have to follow in order 
The Lute player's dog is: in the nice, good, exact way 

A. asleep One after another 

B. merely dozing Bing 
Can you find a crayfish in this picture? Bing 

J(e 3ft IfC :?C ♦ T^T Y\ o* 

Around 

Around 

Around. 
Let one be messy, unconventional 
^ Let one alone. 

Let one go his own way. 



Judy Bel field 
Stop Or I'll Shoe 

"I'm looking for the shoes of the fictionman," I said. 

" These bonts are made for writing," said the salesclerk pointing to a display. 
"Very Hemingway . . . good on safaris. Or how about these government issues — 
sort of Norman Maileresque?" 

"Too heavy," I said. 

"Then the Zane Greys are out too, I guess?" 

"Yeah, too confining. What kind of sandals do you have?" 

"Well, now, let's see," he said. "We have the increasingly popular Bible 
style." 

"Too airy." 

"We have the Roman variety, ala Caesar." 
"I don't speak Latin." 

"There are these strappy Jacqueline Suzannes ..." 
"Too flimsy." 

"And here are some Jerry Rubins." 
"Out-moded." 

"What about slippers," he asked. "We have some lovely Cinderella Glass . • ." 
"I c m too old." 

"And L. Frank Baura Rubies ..." 
"Too flashy." 

"Well, there's the Sherlock Holmes zippered slipper • . ." 
"I'm not into drugs." 

"And the W. Clement Moore, pair. ■ — good for slipping into when you hoar rx>\&&& 
on the roof." 

(^Titirmoa) 

-2- 



Stop Or I'll Shoe (cont'd) 

"Too seasonal." 

"How about high heels?" he asked, . 

"Maybe . . • what've you got?" 

"We have a pair of red spikes — " 

"Oh? Sadie Thompsons, huh? Hmmm . • .no . . .1 can't really • • .too cheap." 

"What about black patent leather?" 

"Too Catholic." 

"We have Erica Jongs, Gail Parents, Harold fiobbinses and Judy Blumes on sale." 

"Too shallow ... I was looking for something more substantial." 

"Hmmm •>--• .How about Steinbeck loafers?" 

"Too big. They'd never fit." 

"Dickens?" 

"Too ragged and worn." 

"We have some black suede Poes." 

"Too depressing." 

"Mary Shelleys?" 

"Too frightening." 

"I guess that automatically discounts the Bram Stokers, then?" 

"Oh, yes, definitely!" 

"What about Cooper mocassins?" 

"And take the last pair?" 

"Scarlet Letter Step-ins?" ■ 
• "Too embarrassing." 

"Mark Twain Clodhoppers?" 

"They smell like the river." 

"Agatha Christie wingtips?" 

"I never could figure them out." 

"War and Peace Buskins?" 

"Too complicated." . 

"We have a special on Tom Robbins Silver-Sparkled Fantasies." 

"They're not sensible." 

"Michael Moorcocks' s Oxford, oft^e future?" 

"C'mon now, who'd believe them?" 

"Well . . .That about exhausts our inventory. You might try one of our 

branch stores . • .We do have a line of philosophical wedgies, political platforms 

and stream of consciousness sneakers coming. in soon. You might want to try 

back in a week or so." 

"I think I'll do that," I said as I walked barefoot out of the store. 

***** 



Maureen Whitmer 
Of Sodom and Gomorrah 

The Lord saw Lot lying in the gutter and sent 
two Angels to his home. When the people of Sodom 
and Gomorrah heard of this, they grew jealous and 
wanted Angels of their own. They went to Lot's 
home and asked him to share his Angels, but Lot 
said, "Go find your own." The Sodomites and the 
Gomorron's did not know how to find their o\jn Angels, 
and drew near to break down the door. Lr> and behold, 
Lot had been given a can of mace and sprayed it in 
their eyes whenever they came too close. 

The Angels went back to Heaven and told the 
Lord, "You better get Lot out of there or the 
descendant of Abraham will be beaten to a pulp." 

God remembered the times he had tormented 
Abraham and decided to save Lot, so there might 
be some kin of Abraham left to torment. 

The Angels returned to Lot and told him to 
crawl under a rock. Lot said, "I will surely 
perish along with the rest under the rock. Can 
not I go to the next town? It's just a little 
town. Oh please, please, let me go there." The 
Angels said, "Stop whining and go before we change 
our minds about you," 

. After Lot and all his kin bad left, . the .Lord 
pam& ,dt?wn to <le&$;xx*y .the towns* He poured fire 

(continued) 

-3- 



Of Sodom and Gomorrah (cont'd) 



down on the lands and stunk up the air with the scent 
of sulfur. The smell was so awful that Lot's wife turned 
to see where the smell was coming from and became 
a pillar of solid room deodorizer. 

Lot and his kin entered the little town. The 
town' s people would not have Lot there, however, after 
they found out he was responsible for the destruc- 
tion of the best houses of begatting in the land. 

Lot and what was left of his kin — two thirteen- 
year-olds he had never seen before — went up to the 
hills to live. There they found a cave and moved 
into it, hoping to start a little Sodom and Gomorrah 
of their own. 



Marsha Kline 



Moonlight Madness 



As the old grandfather clock struck 
midnight, silence had once again fallen 
upon the Martin house. The upstairs 
hallway was darkened, save for a sliver of 
moonlight that bounced off the hardwood 
floor as it reflected along the hall's 
great length. 

The minutes ticked away, as the moon 
climbed higher and the light shone bright- 
er. Silently, the moonlight crept under 
the doorway, entering the room of the 
youngest Martin child. It crawled along 
the baseboard, winding its way around the 
room, until it terminated in Brian's 
face. 

Yawning, the little boy sat up in 
bed and attempted to wipe the light from 
his eyes. His red curls shone golden 
and his face appeared confused with all 
the integrity that an eight-year-old 
could muster, after being aroused from a 
sound sleep. Brian blinked his eyes three 
times before he adjusted to the bright- 
ness. 

The rest of the room remained dark. 
Slowly, silently, the light crept from 
the boy's f^ce as it moved downward. 

A toy train was snoozing in its 
track alongside the boy's bed. As the 
light approached the train station, the 
train began to move. Small puffs of smoke 
blew into the air, and a loud blast from 
the engine broke the silent stillness of 
the night. The train circled the track, 
sending up tiny smoke clouds and sound- 
ing its whistle at every curve. As the 
train picked up speed, a strange thing 
happened. The tracks separated and 
branched off in all directions as they 
filled the room. They climbed steep 
mountains that rose up the side of one 
wall, then descended the next. They ran 
through a long tunnel under the boy's 
bed, finally crossing a river of moon- 
light that ran alongside the station. 
As the little engine approached the end 
of the bridge, it gave one long, shrill 
blast and jolted to a stop. 

The river of light crept acro«i fejfoe 
floor and climbed np the toy shelf in 
fch-e^ ocLCix&x'm A big j?ed Knl 1 e.nme a.1"K*"e, 



as the light was centered upon it. The 
ball jumped down to the floor, bouncing 
across the room, moving higher and high- 
er with each step. 

The little boy's eyes were fixed in 
shocked expression and his mouth hung open 
in awe. Not a sound was uttered. The 
ball was bouncing as high now that it 
touched the ceiling. It made its way 
around the room and back to its spot on 
the toy shelf. The shelves grew dark as 
the light retracted and moved back to the 
floor. 

The moonlight iiad provided quite a 
show for its young audience, and the show 
was not over yet. The light moved. back 
across the floor, past the train, now 
fast asleep at the station. It moved up 
the side of the blue quilt that draped 
the boy's bed. It focused in on some- ""— 
thing now — some sort of lettering. The 
words were being projected onto the wall 
in front of the bed. THE EMPIRE STRIKES 
BACK flickered like a giant marquee on 
the ball. As if by magic, Princess Leah 
and Luke stepped from the quilt and danced 
their way merrily across the bed. In an 
instant, the room had come alive with the 
characters on the quilt. 

Chubakka and R2D2 exploded laser 
cannons, while Ben Kenobi regulated the 
tractor beam. And, off in the corner of 
the room, Han Solo narrowly escaped through 
a trap door as Darth Vader pursued him. 

The clock in the hall struck four 
now, indicating that the show had gone 
on long enough. The light had grown dim- 
mer now as the moon slid lower into the 
western sky. Just as quickly as the show 
had begun, it was over. One by one, each 
character climbed back into his respec- 
tive place on the quilt. The marquee 
flickered one last time and went outl 
Brian yawned loudly and slid back onto 
his pillow. Within a few seconds, he 
was fast asleep. 

All was well in the Martin house as 
the sun came up that morning. The seventh 
bell on the deck bxwght Mytsu K-u v tin 
Rfc.-iK-ry.t Jig liohfil the hall* 

"Brian. Rise and shine. 



It's time 



(continued) 



•4- 



to get ready for school," she called as Brian bolted upright in his bed, his 
she opened the bedroom door. oy&<=> «.■? ^g =>s flyins ©aucers. 

"How did you sloop ] a.st night, son?" "horn, I had th- best dream last night i ! 

Judy Bel field 

Sometimes at Night 

Sometimes at night 

when it' s foggy 

I become a shadowy vapor: 
Where I begin 
and where the mist ends 
is a mystery. 
The droplets of drizzle and I are inseparable: 
We hang suspended under streetlights 

twinkling like tiny mirrors; 
We dance on green/black leaves in a moonless night 
glazing the treetops 
with sprays of transparent paint; 
We glide grayly through a velvet haze, 

lazily shimmering in pockets and folds 
■ of the translucent air. 
Sometimes at night 

when it's foggy, 

I'm an illusion 

that dissipates 
and evaporates into nullity 
and I only seem to be real. 

Jennifer Hunt 

A Tour of Crianna 

Gray suns rise on a mercury sea, 
Plutonium gas bubbles burst 
Gey sera blister the uncharted land 
And I was the one here first. 

What wondrous planet is this, you ask? 
Where did I find this Nirvana? 
Relax — I will tell you all I know: 
This is the planet Crianna. 

Crianna, you say — just where is that? 
Well, the truth is, nobody knows. 
It is a place reserved just for me 
Where imagination grows. 

Do you see those monsters? Don't be scared! 
They are only papier-mache. 
Weird things are found, if you'll follow me, 
Come J Let's be on our wayl 

Those pale blue fish in the mercury 

They are really not fish at all 

They're enormous rats who breathe through straws, 

Made hundreds of thousands feet tall. 

A little strange do you think? Maybe. 
But look in these deep, endless vats. 
You see nothing! Oh, come now, look close 
Yes! Gigantic purple tom-cats. 

Snakes under our feet, writing in sand, 

Plastic bats overhead, 

Three-eyed rhinos, myopic giraffes, 

And lizard skins already shed. 

■ 

These are the things that make up this world, 
It's hard for a mortal to face, 
But, then of course, you have to admit 
Crianna 's a super-new place. 



-5- 



Maureen Whitmer 



The Boundaries of the Flesh 



He had been sitting motionless for 
hours. „He was lonely again. He thought 
of watching the video or taking a drug:, 
such as Dio or EFFE, which always seemed 
to help. He decided on the video, and 
flipped it on. Its soothing effect 
seemed to do the trick. He flipped to 
the three dimensional setting, and the 
compartment came alive with holograms. 
He felt like acting along with the lead- 
ing man and he did so by -stepping in and 
out of the actor's image as it performed. 
The film was old and was made in the 
spiral galaxy of Catrin. These sometimes 
erotic "but exquisite films were his fa- 
vorites. The film was several hours long, 
and after six hours, the old, nagging 
thought of time entereH his mind. 

He should have been keeping track^ 
but he had let several years pass by 
without making a single log entry. 

"I've been a mapper for the Insti- 
tute of Planetary Studies for 1,100 years, 
he thought, and I still can't keep a de- 
cent log. 

He knew he had be*n in space some- 
where between 790 and 800 years, and his 
destination had been estimated at being 
800 years away. It was a clouded region 
that was so dense, the true readings of 
the opposite side seemed impossible. He 
pondered on this a moment and decided it 
might be a good idea to brush up on Ne- 
bulos and other gaseous cloud forms. The 
log needed to be straightened out too, 
however, and that really did take priori- 
ty. He directed a signal to the closest 
home port for the correct date. Of course, 
his distance out in deep space would 
cause a few hours delay in a signal re- 
sponse. He left the compartment with the 
video film still playing and walked to the 
ship's well-stocked library. 

He was an explorer a -^ h ear t, and even 
on a long mission like this, he still en- 
joyed his work. His grandfather's fath- 
er's father's f a ther was in his late se- 
venties, and had always been in Dontares' 
memory. " Dontares was in his mid-twenties, - 
as most all numans he knew, There were 
only a few elders. He respected them, 
and was proud to have an ancestry he 
could trace right to an elder. Not many 
could. 

There was a sudden commotion on one 
of tie monitors. It was the homeport. It 
was technician, Tines Lesto. 

"How you doing, Dontares old b oy?" 
he blared over the ■ 

Dontares directed his attention to 
the distraction and went to flip to three 
dimensional, but then decided to leave 
the overbearing Lesto in the monitor. 

"So, you've lost count again, have 
you Dontares?" the "px boomed. 

"Yes," was his irritated reply. 

"Yes," Lesto echoed bad, " yes? . Is 
that all a man has to say after . . . how 



long has it been?" He thumbed through his 
log, "200 years of uninterrupted space 
travel." 

"I had no idea, sir . . ." Dontares 
began, but was cut short by Lesto. 

• "Boy, you've got to keep track. You'r^ 
very near your destination, if all read- 
ings are correct." 

"I am sir," he replied excitedly. 

"Are you doubting the Time Technician's 
readings?" 

"No sir I I mean . . .," he was once 
more interrupted by Lesto, 

"Get your log out, boy. There's alread 
some other lost soul on the receiver." 

Dontares copied in the previous years 
coordinates, and Lesto made him promise, 
in his unrelenting fashion, a visit if he 
was ever in that vicinity. Dontares, how- 
ever, had no intention of ever meeting 
Lesto face to face. 

The excitement of nearing his destina- 
tion once more overcame him. He ran to 
the computer telescope and began to fill ir 
the required data f«r a description of the 
great cloud. 

"There she isi" he said, as the picture 
formed on the monitor. 

He moved over to the manual telescope, 
pulled it down, and searched the vastness 
of space for the cloud. 

"Still too far," he muttered. 

He went back to the computer and filled 
in the coordinates for time to physical 
sighting. 

"126 days, four hours, thirteen min- 
utes, >and ten seconds," the computer crack- 
led. 

Great, he thought. Now all I need to 
do is brush up on Nebulas, get the necess- 
ary equipment ready, and I'll be all set. 

As the days grew closer, Dontares' 
excitement mounted. He very near depleted 
his supply of drugs and at one time he had 
every video image possible going at the 
same time. This caused the ship to swarm- 
ing with life, instead of containing only 
one man. Things had pretty much settled 
down by the end of the 126th day, and he 
had set all monitors on the strange land. 

"I see it, I see it I" he exclaimed as 
it came into focus. 

It was actually quite different from Wie- 
the computer had read put. Dontares, how- 
ever, was used to this, since computer map- 
outs were only estimates anyway, 

He began to lock in the computer coor- 
dinates on the great cloud, but then 
changed his mind. No, he thought,, if any- 
one is going to take credit for a new dis- 
covery, it's going to be me, and the only 
way to insure that is to take on full re- 
sponsibility. That way, all information 
on the cloud will have to be received per- 
sonally from me . 

This is a job for Betsy, he thought. 
"Ohh, Betsy," he called out. 

Betsy's voice answered sweetly, "I am 

(continued) 



-6- 



Boundaries of the Flesh (cont'd) 

coming Dontares." 

The five feet high, three feet wide ble gates whose pillars disappeared into 
mobile computer rolled in. the clouds. Beyond the gates, was a city 

"Betsy, lock in your coordinates with whose splendor surpassed magnificence, 
the ship's censors. You're taking over At first, Dontares could only stare at the 



this part of the mission." 

"Yes, Dontares dear," she replied. 

'^Betsy, ■ this is it. We are finally 
going to make history," he said, as if 
talking to an old friend. 

"Yes, Dontares," she said, as she 
locked into the ship's censors and began 
analyzing the data. 

"This is strange," she said. "There 
is an area of the cloud that is highly ha- 
bitable, but there is no reading of life, 
human or. alien." 

"You say there is a habitable area?" 

"Yes, it's not a true planet, moon, 
or other body. My computer readout can 
only judge it as an area." 

Dontares toyed with the idea of put- 
ting the mission back on the ship's com- 
puter, but then asked, "Can you get an 
exact reading of this area?" 

".Reading of cloud area: atmosphere; 
nitrogen, oxygen, water vapor, and other 
trace gasses. Surface: crustal rock, as 
on planets with this type of atmosphere, 
except, this is odd, the soil is complete- 
ly white." 

"Try to get a reading behind the 
cloud," he said. 

"Negative, it seems as though there 
is a linear pattern of emptiness behind 
the cloud. There is nothing to take a 
-reading off of." 

"No wonder," Dontares said knowing- 

iy. 

Linear patterns were rare and almost 



solid white structures. He marveled at the 
fine workmanship, the intricate patterns, 
and the grandeur of it all. 

Never in all the grand cities of De- 
marro has anything such as this been con- 
structed, he thought. 

He became aware of his own breathing, 
and realized the total silence of the city. 
Dontares proc§ed.ed to enter the city's tre- 
mendous gates. The only sound to be heard 
was -the echo of his own foot-steps. The 
area could have been for human existance, 
he thought, but he doubted if it could 
have been built by huraan s 8 He chose to 
walk an endless path of white ribbon, which 
seemed to lead to the heart of the city. 
Along the way, he passed many fine statues 
with what seemed to be written inscriptions 
on them. The garb of these statues and 
these inscriptions might be able to be ana- 
lyzed, he thought. He signaled Betsy in 
his mind. 

(What type of analysis do you get from 
all this, Betsy?) 

(You're just going to have to give me 
a moment, Dontares . . .still checking . . . 
This is going to take some time. It seems 
to be a very ancient find and I could have 
to run across billions of years.) 

(I want to stay down here awhile any- 
way. Signal me when you find something. 
I won't be going anywhere. ) 

He proceeded on his quest once more. 
The buildings he passed were becoming lar- 
ger and more numerous. He studied them. 



impossible to detect , unless you were able They were actually great halls flanked by 



to get right to the mouth of one. 

"Well, I guess that explains one of 
the mysteries, and creates another. I am 
going down to the surface, Betsy, prepare 
the Solocraft." 

"Yes, Dontares," she replied, and 
they both went down to the docking area. 

As she prepared the craft, Dontares 
studied the extent of the cloud's area. 
It was massive. 

"Your craft is ready," she stated. 

He boarded the vessel, set the des- 
tination coordinates and departed. As he 
neared the cloud, his visibility became 
zero. He kept in touch with Betsy tele- 
pathically. 

(How am I doing, Betsy?) 

(You're right on target.) 



immense pillars. He could only guess at 
their use. He entered one of them. From 
the outside, the hall was gigantic, but on 
the inside, it seemed boundless. His eyes 
surveyed the majesty of the hall. The ceil- 
ing was filled with fluffy, white clouds, 
and a silvery violet sky with a full moon 
shining through the clouds. His eyes 
dropped to the floor, which seemed to gen- 
erate the brightness of the hall. It was 
a transparent white that gave him the feel- 
ing of buoyancy as if walking on a still 
pool of water. This place was a paradise, 
he thought. A great white paradise. He 
thought of the value of his find to the 
Institute of Planetary Exploration, and 
to himself. His thoughts raced. 

I could make this become a profitable 



Her familiar voice in his mind calmed paradise, after all, it's only 800 years 



his nerves a bit. 

(Dontares, you're about 200 feet 
above the surface of the area.) 

"0K. I am bringing her down here" 
he said aloud, a little startled at the 
sound of his own voice. 



from the Sumetra Galaxy, and surely, 
people would pay much to visit, let alone 
study a ready-made paradise such as this. 
"Dontares, your ship has finally come 
in," he said aloud. The words echoed throng' 
the hall. He laughed a bit. This ceu'-d 



The ship landed gently, as it cruised make me richer than any Grand Tnvrn on all 
along the surface. The hiss of the engine the planets of Sura, he thought;. He was 
quieted and Dontares climbed out. He i utevz-uptcj. by Betsy's familiar voice. 
Could jpot believe what he saw. P.ir.vM.r (Dontares, 1 think I've come up with 
■i •> Cvx^ist. <*i ixim /f.v<«7 ixam&xt&e \,int.c mar— something.) 

(continued) 



-7- 



Boundaries of the Flesh (cont'd) 



(What is it?) 

(Well, it dates back very far. In 
fact, it's religious in nature.) 

Religious, Dontares thought. There 
hasn't been any talk of religion since • < 
since the time before the elders. 

Betsy continued. (I have come across 
several books that all refer to the area. 
Shall I have them materialize down?) 

(By all means. ) 



to allow this discourse." 

"This is heaven?" Dontares asked. 

"Yes, many have called it by that name.' 

"Why . . . why is it forgotten. What 
happened?" 

"Dontares, when mankind was young, very 
young, his flesh was as mortal as that of 
lesser animals. Man and nature changed 
him. Gradually, life was extended to the 



In seconds, a small pile of books ap- infinity it has reached." 



peared at his feet. Elders . . . religion 
how can any of this have anything to do 
with this place? he wondered as he lifted 
one of the books. He read the title: 
The New Catholic Version, Holy Bible . He 
read another. The King James Version , 
Holy Bible, and another, H oly Bible, l la - 
sonic Edition . He was totally unfamiliar. 
with religion such as this and began to 
leaf through one of the 'Bibles. The first 
passage caught his attention. 

He read aloud. "In the beginning, 

God created the heavens and the earth." 

TTafrnp 
Earth, he thought, why did that seem 

so familiar to him. Intrigued, he sat 

on the floor of the hall and beganto read 

the Old Testament. He didn't know what 



"And what of earth," he asked. 

"The earth was man's cradle. It was 
a harsh place with many barriers to be 
conquered. On earth, man's flesh died 
easily from sickness, famine and his own 
cruelty. His reward, or better, his spi- 
rit's reward, was here. Once he had 
passed through the boundaries of the flesh 
he was given everlasting life. 

"Men, such as yourself, no longer have 
a use for heaven. The fact that man be- 
came immortal at the same time of the ea **th 
natural destruction by its own sun was 
more than coincidental." 

Dontares listened intently. 

"Man has become the equal to his spi- 
rit." He has, in fact, bettered it. You 
to make of it all. Why had he never heard are not unlike one of heaven's own angels, 
of this storybefore? He read the New "Dontares, you must go. Send no men 
Testament in hopes of better under standing. here. The many spirits must live in 



peace. It is their right. Man has 
no use for heaven and heaven has no use 
for man. You must build your own heavens, 
you have the capabilities." 

"Others will come this way," Dontares 



For a long while after finishingthe 
book, he sat and thought. He tried to 
piece the fantasy story and the very real 
heaven together. He knew the story had 
been originated for men who were not yet 
evolved enough to use their power for ever said. 

lasting life. He figured, when man died "Yes," said the voice. "We will tell 
physically, his everlasting spirit, as the them what we have told you." 
book called it, still existed and went to The voice was more than a voice, Don- 
heaven for all eternity. But how can this tares realized. It was a voice that could 
be so, he thought. I'd better jet back only be obeyed 



to the ship and look this up myself. 

He got up and left the hall. He had 
only walked a few feet when he heard a : 
faint humming sound. 

"Betsy, is that you," he whispered. 

The humming grew louder. He looked 
up into the sky and saw a faint light 
traveling toward him. He stood, frozen 
with fear and curiosity. The light en- 
compassed him and the humming ceased. 

"Dontares, we have been expecting 
you," a melodious voice called out. 

Dontares swallowed hard and asked, 
"■Jho are you?" 

"I have many names," was the answer. 

"Oh," Dontares uttered. He grew 
more self-assured. "Won't you tell me 
one?" 

"You are a wise man, Dontares," 

"Thank you." He was beginning to 
wonder if he was ever going to get a 
straight answer from this . • .entity. 

"Please," Dontares asked, "what hap- 
pened to everyone here?" 

"There are many, many spirits here, 
Dontares." Dontares sol.f-ivm-oieusl.y 
looked around himself. 

"We are invisible to you. It has 
taken the combined, energies of millions 



"I understand you," was all Dontares 
could say. It was all that needed to be 
said. 

With that, the voice disappeared, and 
the light returned into the sky. 

Dontares slowly walked back to the 
Solocraft. jje \ znevr he had to leave, but 
he was reluctant to do so. It was so j 
beautiful that he could not help but feel 
jealous. He started to get into his craft. 
He wondered about the men of earth. Had 
they truly been lesser than he? After 
all, had they not surpassed the boundaries 
of the flesh, thus enabling them to live 
for all eternity in heaven? 

(Betsy, I'm coming home.) 



Jennifer Hunt 

In The Green Meadow 

In the green meadow 
There is only one shade tree 
With its big green leaves 
Hiding the birds in their nests 
A -id the small boy under it. 
***** 



-8- 



Laura Lauth 

I'd Like to Tell a Story 
(Ballad) 



I'd like to tell a story 
Of a friend who had to flee 
When asked a fatal question 
She left the nunnery. 

To fill her father's final wish 
She joined, put on the veil, 
A cloistered order of singing nuns 
She played piano, and grew pale. 

They got her up at dawn each day 
And off to pray she'd trudge 
A nineteen-year-old broken hearted 
Holy Ghostly married drudge. 

She scrubbed the dishes, pots and pans, 
And tried in desperation 
To hide the swea upon her brow — 
Forbidden perspiration! 

They said she could teach music 
But she needed a degree 
Off she went full time to college 
"Get done quickly," the decree. 

The cloistered years had made her shy 

She kept her eyes downcast 

And didn't see the longing gaze 

Of the young man in her class. 

For months he watched her every move 
His gaze became a stare 
Until one day he blurted out 
"What color is your hair?" 

Her habit felt like prison garb 
She refused her final vow 
Put down her veil, rejoined the world 
She's a cocktail waitress now. 



J. D. Guse 

Insatiable Urges 

Insatiable urges 

for girls in 

plaid skirts, 

white shirts, 

bobby socks. 

Pendulating walks thru 

halls, 

guarded by 

walls, 

doors, 

and floors. 

Love thy neighbor. 

Know thy stranger. 

(in the Biblical sense?) 

Obsessed 

with thoughts of 

passion 

for girls in 

plaid skirts, 

white shirts, 

bobby socks. 



Judy Bel field. 
Rhythmic Pulsations 

Rhythmic pulsations 
pervade every nerve 
and a throbbing drumbeat heat 
seizes my senses. 

I am slave 

to an incandescent cadence 

that thrums and rumbles inside, 

repeating itself again and again, 

restraining reason in an iron prison 

and hammers at my loins 

with relentless determination 

And I am crazed 

by the demon captor 

who stands by and gloats 

as I plead for release. 



Michael A. Stillman 
I Fall into the Sky of Her Blue Eyes 



I fall into the sky of her blue eyes 
I see a silent orb begin to spin 
My currents throb in electric surprise 
Can I land my life, let this journey end 
Watching, willing, waiting, strapped to the floor 
"Periscope Promise," computer explains 
Shooting premonition: turn off, ignore; 
Caution to the wind, all fuel to the flame J 

Some men learn by the light of the fire 
The rest must learn by the scar of the burn 
Her desert planet scorned my desire, 
To the cold empty space I must return 

How can I forgive the wide-eyed wonder 
How can I forget the burning thunder 



Judy „ei field 

She Looks at Him in the Red Glow 

She looks at him in the red glow 
of a painted flourescent bulb 
and the music of a thousand violins 

plays its straining, longing notes 
deep inside 

whore slick and glistening secrets gurgle. 
She studies his softly tinted scarlet skin, 
his squinting, sparkling eyes — 
and she touches his cheek 

with the featherfingers of her mind. 
She shudders 

as a trembling nerve quivers in her thigh' 
and aches in waves 
of wanting. 
Whispering words reverberate in her veins — 
words of greedy need she never speaks 
but feels them charge unceasing through her bloo£. 
And she closes her eyes, 

and tries to think of baseball 

or balloons. 
***** 



Judy Belfield 

Don't Tread on Re A . 

Like a stoplight, 

the red shirt said, 
"Do not proceed." 
And I pleaded — 

interceded for Reason 
against the foe. 
Reason said, 

"Heed the oommand of red," 
and I oonveyed the message to the fiond 
hut th* domon plugged his ears, 
stuck out his tongue 
and said, 
"I will lust 

after any chest I please." 
And all the while 

the blaring scarlet screamed, 
"Flaming desire I 
Stop. 
Crazy passion! 

Stop. 
Attack! 

Stop." 



Julie O'Connell 

Love foil over and Jiroke itself 

Love fell over and broke itself 

into four pieces 

of blue 

It fell off a mountain 

onto the floor of my room 

and sat 

to look at me 

with a surprised look 

so I picked it up 

crushed it 

and cried 

wishirig.it never existed. 



Judy Belfield 
When All the Pain had Ended 



When all the pain had ended 

and I began to see some faults, 
I felt uneasy because he wasn't perfect — 
be and I had thought he was. 
Then, for a while, 

I thought I'd never really loved him 

even though I'd had all the classic symptoms 
an* I began — again — to wonder 
just what i_s level Had I felt it? 
Much later, he touched me with a word and I knew: 
Yes, whatever love is, I'd felt it, 
and no, it doesn't die — it changes, 

maybe for the hotter, 
because now I see his imperfections 
leut I also still ^ee what it whs I loved him for 
and it isn't blinding any more. 

±0- 



Pat Bohler 



A Story About Passin' On 



She poked the child in his fat little 
rump with the tip of her cane, as he 
backed into range of her. He squealed. 
The "Old One," that he had managed to 
avoid so adroitly all day had actually 
touched him. His little face was livid 
with indignation as he spun around to 
face her. "Stop it," he said, resting 
his dimpled hands on his hips. 

Everyone gathered there responded 
with chuckles of admiration. They'd all 
been poked with that cane at one time or 
another but had never dared tell the old 
lady to "Stop it." They were surprised 
though to see him grin and inch toward 
her obviously hoping for a second poke. 

They saw the expectant twinkle in 
his eyes fade as she spoke. "My Grampa 
Johnson used to poke me with this very 
cane. Warn't no bigger than that little 
fella right there." She poked at, but 
missed her quick little target. He gig- 
gled and pranced back and forth in front 
of herl "He'd corner me under Gramma's 
bed and poke at me when my Dad wasn't 
looking That was 9^ years ago when the 
old lady was dyin' . Funny that I should 
think about her dyin' just now. Anyhow 
she had two of her granddaughter's 
stayin' with her on the farm. They 
weren't sisters. They were cousins to 
each other though." She paused, resting 
her chin on the head of the cane. "Fun- 
ny, I can't even remember their names. 
Anyway, they got into a fight and the old 
lady accidently fell backwards down the 
basement steps tryin' to put a stop to 
it. Fell all the way to the bottom. 
Hurt real bad inside. Everyday, my dad 
would put me on his shoulders and we f d 
go across the creek, up the hill to the 
big house to visit with the old lady. 
Like I said, she was dyin' . Yeah, and 
Grampa would torment me with this cane." 

She twirled it in the air over her 
head. "When I'd see iiim comin' , I'd 
crawl under Gramma's bed to get away 
from him, but i\rhenever my dad wasn't 



lookin' the old man would poke me with 
the cane. He never talked. He just 
poked and poked and poked." She jabbed 
the 'cane in the air above the child every 
time she said "poked." He squealed with 
delight and taunted her, "Ha ha ha, you 
can't get me," as he inched closer to 
her. 

She smiled. The child looked at her 
amazed. "Where* re your teeth, Grandma?" 
Everyone giggled. 

"You like Gramma's story, huh, little 
one?" She smiled at him. He stared at 
her puzzled. 

"The old man died of shock, 1 ' she con- 
tinued. "He had carried one of Aunt India' 
little boys down to the barnyard to see 
the pigs bein' fed. He didn't take the 
cane with him that day. Couldn't handle 
the cane and carry the child. Anyhow, he 
fell and the pigs tore up the child sorne- 
tftin'' awful. They went for his stomach 
and groin. Nearly severed his leg from 
his body. Don't know how he survived, 
but he did. Fathered a family too. They 
tell me he turned out kind of queer in his 
old age t no ugh. Anyhow, Grampa died two 
days later from the shock of seein' what 
happened to the boy and feelin' responsi- 
ble for it, I suppose." 

She jabbed the cane quickly into the 
soft tummy of the three-year-old in front 
of her. He grabbed the end of it and she 
pulled him to her, hugged him, and before 
she could plant a kiss on his cheek, he 
ran off laughing to inspect the pantry. 

She smiled as she watched him dis- 
appear. "Little ones always seem to en- 
joy that story," she said, as she hooked 
the cane over the arm of her chair. 



Judy Bel field 

Doppelganger 

Show me the picture of the Other 

and tell me what she's doing, 
in/hat does she feel — 
do you know? 
do you care? 
Let me look at her face again 
so I can see my eyes 
laughing back at me — 

Those eyes don't fool me 
with their smile: 

I've seen them too often in the mirror 
and there are tears welled up. 
behind the green irises 
waiting to spill. 
Do you see them too? 



-11- 



Judy Bel field 

Get Out on the Highway 

I'm doin a nice, safe 55 
on highway 55 
an I see the sign that says 

Jet. 80 - % mile. 
I ddcide to take it 

an no sooner do I enter 
near the center 
of the coast to coast linkup, 
but I hear 

. IT 
come over the radio. 
"Get your motor runnin," 
IT sings to me 
and I step on the gas. 

I'm goin 80 miles an hour now 

an I don't care about cops 

or nothin 
cause IT's blarin so loud 

my speakers are cracklin, 
an I'm "lookin for adventure 

or whatever comes my way." 

The wind is whippin my hair; 

it's hot air that smells of exhaust and tires 
an this crazy electric feelin 

is chargin through my skin — 

it's an anticipation of somethin, 
an excitement I don't know how to handle — 
an I wonder what I'm gonna do when the music ends, 
I see a concrete abutment under an overpass 

an it looks like a great place to explode. 

"Splatter hair on the walls — " 

echoes Perry Smith from hell: 
Perry and Steppenwolf 
got a hold of my soul right now 
an I'm heedin the words. 
"Fire alia your guns," 
the song says. 

"We were born, born to be wild." 
"Look out," 

I scream with delicious glee, 
my lunatic eye on gray cement 
and my heart set on Hades. 
I'm checkin out of the Earth Motel 



an there aint gonna be a cell of me left 



that aint ash. 



Laura Lauth 



Diffused and H a loed Glow Behind Her Hair 

Diffused and haloed glow behind her hair 
Eyes shine Love ligiit meaningful reflections 
Slender neck arches graceful unaware 
Hands laid quiet offer no rejections 
Pinpoints gleaming diamond lace is shining 
Subtle candle flame coloring the air 
Velvet smooth peach skin silky lying 
Photograph Lady's provocative stare 

How much longer will she betoken beauty 

Playful artiface becomes a duty 

Painted lady, thin falsehood makes me tired 

This made up masquei^ade has us mired 

Tu superficialities, and lies. 



-12- 



Val Bruech 

The Cocktail Hour 

Verbs, adjectives, prepositions and nouns, 
Adverbs, conjunctions and all the pronouns 
Together appeared and ordered some rounds 
Preparing for a night on the town. 

Apostrophe tittered with Dangling Modifier 
And Comma was urged by Hyphen to got higher 
Independent Clause cornered Simple Phrase 
While Indefinite Antecedents merely lazed. 

The -crowd grew loud, reason did flee: 

Subject and Verb could not agree; 

Transitive actives chased teasing - complement® 

While abstract nouns relaxed in easy confidence 

Style strode into the melee 

Wrapping the room in gentility 

Singular and Plural were arm-in-arm 

And what remained of Grammar suffered no harm. 



Judy Bel field 



Desolate 



Sheila Malloy sat facing the glass- 
doored east wall of a twenty-fifth- story 
apartment on Lake Shore Drive. She was 
watching the waves of Lake Michigan break 
over the sandy beach below as she nursed 
a martini she didn't really want. 

Behind her, the spac:l us living room 
was filled with voices, tinkling ice 
cubes, soft music, and cigarette smoke. 

"Great view, huh?" a deep voice said 
near her ear. Sheila's body jerked, was 
startled by the sound. 

"Sorry if I jangled your thoughts," 
the voice said. 

"No . . .no, it's okay," sb e answered 
not turning to see who it was that spoke. 
She was being rude, not acknowledging the 
speaker this way, but she wished whoever 
it was would just leave her alone. 
"Mind if I sit here with you?" 
"No," she said, minding very much. 
Why couldn't she ever tell people to bug 
off! She hadn't wanted her space invaded, 
didn't want to talk, and now she'd be 
forced to. A gangly pair of black- poly- 
ester legs crossed in front of her and 
placed tnemselves next to her on the 
beige settee. 

"The lake is so desolate looking in 
the winter, isn't it?" 

"Yeah," she answered snortly, still 
not looking at him. "Desolate," she 
thought, letting the word sit on her mind 
and bleed its shades of blue and purple 
through ner imagination. She was" like 
the lake, pushed and pulled by forces be- 
yond her control, crashed on the shore, 
wnipped into frenzy and ultimately left 
alone. 

"Barryi" a male voice boomed in on 
her thougnts. She looked around to see 
Matt Shelby lean over the settee. "Barry 
Fisherl Haven't seen you in ages. What 



have you been up to?" 

Barry Fisher, with the gangly legs, 
stood and faced Matt, shook hands, ex- 
changed greetings, et cetera. Their 
voices blurred into the chit-chat and 
prattle and ice-tinkling. 

Barry's weathered-bronze face was 
Poman-nosed and topped by a thick tous- 
ling of dark blonde hair. All of his 
features — eyes, jaw, cheekbones — 
were pronounced and finely sculpted. His 
eyes were blue and intense. Sheila noted 
all this, trying not to get caught in the 
act, but he saw her in the corner of an 
intense blue eye as he talked distractedly 
with Matt. 

She fingered the red lace of her 
dress, first at the knee-length hem, and 
tnen at the bodice. She smoothed an ima- 
ginary wrinkle in her Hanes, three-ninety- 
eight, cinnamon- snade stockings, and 
flicked a strand of deep brown hair from 
her eye. Sne didn't like being stared at; 
it made her nervous. 

She stood up in her red, strappy, 
satin high heeLs and stepped closer to 
the window. He-r breath frosted the pane. 
She needed some air. It was cold on the 
balcony, she knew, but she had to get out 
into the air. She pushed the glass door 
slightly and stepped, outside. She heard 
Barry's voice say, "Er r look Matt ... 
I'll talk to you later, huh?" As she 
pulled the door shut, his hand was on hers 
and he stared into her near-black eyes. 

"It's awfully cold out there. You'll 
catch cold." 

"I know," she said, freeing her hand 
and walking out to the stone ledge. 

"That dress can't be very warm." 
"Look. I didn't ask yon ho come out 
here after me and play mother. I don't 
need somebody to take care of me." 



-13- 



Desolate (cont'd) 



"What do you need," he asked softly, 
his face very close to hers. Sheila was 
tempted to laugh, but his eyes stopped 
her. They didn't have the telltale 
leer she expected. He seemed concerned. 
It wasn't a quality she often encoun- 
tered, and she wasn't sure she liked it. 
Now she had to say_ something, rather 
than reel off a smart remark. 

"I'd like to b© alone," she said 
flatly. She turned to face the lake, 
her arms crossed to hug her shoulders. 

"I don't think you'd like that... 
not really." 

"Listen mister: You don't even 
know my name and yet you stand there 
trying to psychoanalize me. I said I'd 
like to be left alone and I meant it — 
really!" 

"Okay, okay," he said, Talking 
back inside. 

Sheila was ready to cry. She al- 
Trays cried when anyone seemed genuinely 
concerned about her — either cried or 
laughed it off as sentimental slop. It 
was not a. time to laugh. She stood on 
the balcony shivering, not knowing why 
she had come out. Ah, yes — for the 
air. But she didn't really want air. 
At least, she didn't want to freeze for 
it. But here she was — trapped! She 
couldn't go back inside, not yet anyway. 
So she cried, streaked her black mascara 
down her creamy white face and ruined 
what she'd taken pains a few hours ago 
to make up just so. "Desolate," that's 
what he'd said. It was a good word. 

She pulled a white linen hanky 
from her red-beaded purse and dabbed 
her cheeks. She had to leave. She'd 
make some excuse to Waggie and go home. 
She patted under her eyes with the 
hanky, being careful not to smear too 
badly, stuffed the black-stained cloth 
into the bag and headed back into the 
apartment. 

"Kaggie, I'm not feeling very well. 
I think I'd better go." 

"Sheila darling, is it anything 
serious?" 

"No. I think I must be getting 
the flu or something. " 

"Would you like to lie down in the 
guest room for a few minutes? I'll get 
Jeff to drive you home." 

"No — don't bother. I don't want 
to spoil the party for Jeff. I can get 
a cab. " 

"Don't be silly, dear. Of course 
Jeff will take you." 

"Mo liaggie, please. Don't ask 
him — listen, I'll go lie down for a 
while and maybe I'll feel better." 

"You can stay the night if you'd 
like . » 

"I'll see. I'll see how I feel. 
Okay? Don't worry about me, please," 

"You're sure now — you don't want 
me to get Jeff?" 

"Yeah, I'm sure. I just need to 
lie down for a x^hile. Don't leave your 
guests, I knoitf where it is." 



"All right dear. If you .need any- 
thing, just call for me, okay?" 

"Sure, sure. I'm sure I'll be all 
right. 1'aybe it was just the drinks." 
Sheila gently pulled herself away from 
liaggie and started doxm the hallway to 
the stairs. 

"Sheila . . . Sheila Ualloy. " It 
was Barry, clacking down the hall as 
she mounted the steps. 

"See? -Noxtf I know your name. Is 
•it all right to psychoanalize you now?" 

"Oh . . .I'm not feeling very 
well ... do you mind if I don't talk 
right now?" 
• ' "I mind. Of course I mind — what 
is it? Catch a cold on the balcony? 
Still want to be alone? Greta — Dar- 
ling!" 

"Look Barry Fisher, I think I'm 
going to throxtf up, and if you keep me 
here any longer, I may have an accident 
on this nice marble floor." 

"Warble's easy to clean — " 
Sheila grabbed her stomach xrith 
one hand, clutched her mouth with the 
other, and raced up the stairs to the 
guest-room bath and slammed the door. 
Barry was right behind her. He stood 
outside the door listening to her retch. 
"Are you okay? Are you okay?" 
"Go away. Of course I'm not okay. 
You heard me. puking didn't you? Go 
away!" He opened the door a crack only 
to have it slammed in his face. 

"Get out!" she screamed. Barry 
crossed the softly carpeted room to the 
bed, inhere he sat, waiting . . . 

After a x^hile, the door opened and 
she stood in the frame looking at him. 
She x-xas annoyed, but she saw that the 
situation was hopeless: He just wasn't 
going to leave. She didn't xrant to 
create a scene, and anyxray, she didn't 
have the energy. 

"Gotta see that my patient's still 
breathing. C'mere and let Doctor Fisher 
take your pulse." Sheila dragged her- 
self across the room and sat doxra next 
to him on the bed. 

"If I let you take my pulse, xri.ll 
yo.u leave?: She offered her arm. 

"Hmmm. Racing. Not good . . . 
not good at all." He looked into her 
face, pushed her hair back and caressed 
her cheek. She loxrered her eyes and 
turned her head. 

"I suppose you xrant to get into 
bed with me," she said, a note of 
resignation in her voice. 

"I'd love to . . . but only if you 
xrant me to. " 

"Want to catch the flu — or what- 
ever it is I've got?" 

"You don't have anything but a 
touch of nerves, and yes, I'd like to 
catch it very much." 

"I'd say you have enough nerve for 
both of us." 

"You could say that. " 

"I just did." 

"You're not really sick, are you?" 



■ 14- 



Desolate (cont'd) 



"Your diagnoses are right on the 
button, aren't they doctor?" 

"l/here I'd like to be." They 
laughed. While she was still laughing, 
he began to kiss her shoulder, her neck, 
crept closer to her face. 

"Don't kiss me on the mouth — I 
just threw up. " 

"I don't care. " 

"7ait, Barry, Don't—" But she 
didn't care either . . . 

Later, Barry slipped out from the 
covers and started to dress. He 
glanced over at Sheila's hair spread 
over the yellow pillowcase. Sheila had 
felt his every careful move, felt him 
slowly inching out of bed. 

"Don't leave me," she pleaded 
silently, keeping her eyes closed. 
"Please Barry, don't leave." But he 
did, quietly clicking the door shut 
behind him. 

She lay there numbly as morning 
began to creep into the night sky. She 
glanced at the clock on the bedside 
table — four-twenty-two. Barry had 
been gone nearly a half -hour. Barry 
was gone, just like all the others. 
They all left sooner or later. She'd 
thought Barry was different, but he 
wasn't. They were all alike. Oh, it 
wasn't just men — people were all 
alike. Everybody deserted her in time. 
Nobody ever really cared; they some- 
times said they did, but the words 
xtfere hollow — she couldn't begin to 
count the echoes of all the "caring" 
people she never saw any more. 3ven 
Haggle, with her superficial "dears" 
and "darlings," would soon become an 
echo of the past. She wouldn't like 
it if she knew that Barry and Sheila 
had gotten it on in her guest room. 
"Liberal" Haggie wouldn't say anything, 
of course, but Sheila would, not be cal- 
led on the phone or invited to I ."aggie's 
parties any more. That was okay with 
Sheila: She wasn't comfortable around 
Jeff anyway, since their affair had 
ended — ] aggie would really be pissed 
if she knew about that. 

She thought about the long line of 
people in her past and the array of 
emptiness in her present. "'Jhat the 
hell," she whispered, "I don't need 
any of them" : -Ihat did she need?. 
Barry had asked that -- when? It 
seemed like years ago, when she 
thought she had seen a caring sparkle 
in his eyes. 

She looked at the clock: Four- 
thirty-six. Hell was an empty morn- 
ing waiting for the numbers to tumble 
on a digital clock. Hell was an empty 
bedroom filled x^ith echoes of "I love 
yous" and "Je cares." 



Christmas x^as coming; it x-ras two 
itfeeks away. Too close. Too empty. 
She got up from the bed and slipped her 
red lace dress over her head. Bare- 
foot, she padded down the stairs, 
through the cold marble-floored hall- 
way, through the thickly carpeted liv- 
ing room, to the sliding glass doors. 
She looked back over the half -lit, 
silent room. The ashtrays were full. 
Glasses — empty, half-full, lipstick- 
stained, and tipped over -- littered 
the tables, the bookshelves, the mantel, 
the floor. She eyed the beige settee, 
slid open a door and walked outside. 
If her feet were cold, she didn't no- 
tice. The lake was washing in, grab- 
bing the shoreline and trying to take 
hold, losing its grasp and plunging- 
back out to gray-green infinity. 

"Desolate," Barry had said. "Like 
me . . ." she thought, "like me . . ." 

I oments later her red lace dress 
lay crumpled on a concrete slab near 
the sand of a sunless, snow- patched 
beach. Splotches of red lay near her 
body, very closely matched in color to 
the dress. 

As her feet had left the ledge, 

she thought for one split second that 

she had heard someone call her name 

. . . but it was too late. 
***** 



ilaureen -Jhitmer 

Bunnies Bunnies mveryxirhere 

How I love your furry faces 
peering out from road side places 

I observe you from a distance 
as you run with mute persistance 

I'm hooked on hares you see 

rabbit-ites has bitten me 
***** 



Pat iJulder 

Srnpty Dawns 

Old hearts often stop at dawn - 

too sad and weary to go on. 

Is there any valid reason, 

so late in the season, 

to make plans, to aspire, 

to start the morning fire? 

Tny break the spell of night 

when morning gives a lonely light? 

Cold, it is, the blood congeals, 

and blankets hide what day reveals - 

fingers, toes, and elbows, bent, 

the energy of life all spent. 

Shadows totter doxm the halls 

to sit and stare at silent xralls. 

They eat alone, they Thatch, they xrait, 

for evening meal, for dusk, for fate. 

And xtfho can blame old hearts at dawn, 

too sad and weary to go on. 



-15- 



Val Bruech 
Small Chances 

Jenny and Dart had been jogging 
almost a mile in the cool i'innesota 
countryside. The sloping road was 
lined with leafed timber and rolling 
hills, and the sun was finishing up its 
day on this section of the earth, im- 
parting a pinkish-yelloxr cast to all of 
nature and the exposed skins of the two 
friends. 

Jlach found a comfortable stride 
and rythym to fit the other woman and 
the road. Jenny opened the conversa- 
tion. 

"Why didn't you tell me you were 
an All-American, Dart? If I had known 
I would have been chasing my husband 
on his jogs instead of doing yoga for 
the last six months." 

"You never asked what I did in my 
spare time since I moved out here. I 
thought you T d rather read letters that 
were filled with conquests of Ilinne- 
sota lumberjacks and the growing pains 
of a pottery studio rather than pulled 
muscles and new jogging shoes." 

Jenny gasped out a chuckle. "Hey, 
I love to hear about whatever you're 
doing — especially if it's slightly sin- 
ful." 

"Actually, if you'd been reading 
between the lines in my letters," Dart 
responded, "You'd know that the 
closest I've come to sinning lately is 
a daily liershey bar, which is one rea- 
son I've taken up running. Really, 
it's good to get out of the studio, 
where I'm by myself almost all day, 
and run and see the country a couple 
times a week. " 

Jenny cast a sideways look at her 
friend as they ran on, working on the 
second mile, legs and arms moving 
easily, beautifully together. Dart had 
let her reddish-brown hair grow be- 
yond her shoulders, and it framed her 
finely-chiseled face Jenny remembered . 
so well from their college days. In 
the ten years since they had gradua- 
ted, she thought to herself, Dart's 
face was the only one of all their 
friends and acquaintances that re- 
mained unlined and untroubled. Dart 
labored, as they all did, but her life 
had always seemed to Jenny to be far 
more uncluttered and uncomplicated 
than the corporate and scholastic pur- 
suits many of their friends were im- 
mersed in. 

The deep glance she had given her 
friend stimulated a wave of memories 
in Jenny. She asked, "Do you remem- 
ber how we met, Cart?" Her friend 
turned her head as she ran and searched 
Jen's eyes in puzzlement. Then she 
smiled. "Hot only do I remember how 
we met, I could almost give you the 
verbatim conversation," she grinned, 
"And I haven't even thought about it 
since then. Talk about the old days, 
when we were innocent. . .and whatnot. 
Anyway, how long has it been since 
we've seen each other?" 



"Hell, we all had dinner last 
Thanksgiving at jary's-you were there 
for that, about six months ago, and be- 
fore that, I think I saw you last at 
Jan's wedding in New York. That xras 
way over a year ago, huh?" 

Dart smiled. "Yeah, you're right." 
She turned again to look at Jenny. 
"Gosh, we do go back a long ways." 3y 
common, unspoken consent, they both in- 
creased the length and quickness of 
their strides. They were perspiring 
freely now, and the sun seemed hotter 
even though it xras descending. 

After a few hundred more yards at 
the increased pace, Dart slowed and re- 
sumed the conversation. "I met you in 
the bookstore the first day of classes 
freshman year — you were looking at Eng- 
lish novels and you had your class sche- 
dule clutched in one hand and both arras 
full of math and history course books. 
God, I still wonder how you pulled a 
double major in those two subjects — and 
you dropped your schedule and couldn't 
get it without dropping about twelve 
books . " 

Jenny laughed out loud. "Are you 
kidding-I don't remember that at all." 

".Jell, I do," Dart explained, 
"Cause I remember later on when we got 
to know each other that I often won- 
dered at how wide your interests were, 
and how you seemed so clever in school, 
but you just couldn't keep track of pa- 
pers or due dates, or get yourself or- 
ganized at all. It was just like in 
the bookstore-a genius, happy as a puppy 
with new knowledge, but a bit screwy 
about getting to the right place at the 
right time." Dart knexr she was safe in 
making this criticism in jest, and she 
xras right. Jenny laughed in agreement, 
and said, "Yeah, but that xras in the 
old days. Now with a kid, and Jack, 
and a job, I've turned into possibly 
the most organized list-maker you've 
ever seen. " 

"Do you remember that night in 
freshman year when xre all xvent to your 
grandmother's wake?" Jenny asked. Dart 
gave a strong nod instantly. "I can 
remember that so clearly, " Jenny con- 
tinued. For some reason, you and I 
ended up driving back to school to- 
gether in your car. I guess everyone 
else had to leave early. Remember, xre 
stopped for a drink, and just talked 
and talked, about our families, and re- 
ligion, and God-I think it all started 
because your grandmother had a rosary 
in her hands." Jenny sloired doxwi as 
she recalled the evening many drears ago. 
"You know, that xras when I first re- 
alized just xtfhat a super person you 
xre re . " 

Dart smiled brightly. "The start 
of a beautiful friendship." She slowed 
her pace to a walk. "Boy, am I beat. 
He must have done three miles, which 
is about tx-ro over my limit. T dovi about 
a break?" 

"I was hoping you'd say that," 
Jenny sighed. "I xras wondering if they 
have pick-up services for joggers in- 
jured during duty." 



-16- 



Snail Chances (cont'd) 

The women slowed to a Walk; "The- 
re's a great spot to watch the sunset 
about a half-mile back," Dart offered. 
"It's been years since I saw a sunset 
without a building in front of it," 
Jenny responded. 

Hot speaking, and each thinking 
her own thoughts about experiences they 
had shared, the women walked back until 
they arrived at a grassy glen. They 
sat on some convenient large rocks and 
watched the sky change from blue to 
pink to tomato red as the sun disappear- 
ed behind the neighboring hills. 

They spoke, as old friends some- 
times do, not of the raucous and care- 
free past, for its value now was only 
that it had happened, but rather of the 
everyday encounters and problems that 
were now so different for each of them. 
Jenny spoke of her three year old child 
Kent and his comic antics and rapid 
growth, her adoring but increasingly 
work-consumed husband Jack, and her 
newest batch of crazy friends at her 
part-time job proof-reading for a news- 
paper. She listened intently as Dart 
related how the pottery studio was do- 
ing, and how difficult it had been to 
pay the rent for the first months'* 
Dart told Jenny how, on frequent oc- 
casions, she missed the challenge and 
excitement of the city, but of how 
peaceful her life had become since mov- 
ing to the small Minnesota town and 
setting up her studio:. 

The women started to shiver in 
the quickening breeze. They looked up 
at the fragile pastel sky and realized 
the sun had .disappeared entirely as 
they talked.* 

"Time to go back and maybe light 
a fire," Dart said as she stood and 
stretched. She leaned over and took 
Jenny's arm to help her up. "You know, 
Jen," Dart started in a strangely full 
voice, "I very much meant what I said 
about my being peaceful out here, but 
-"our coming this weekend makes me hap- 
pier than you'll ever know." 

Jenny stood and looked at her 
friend in mild surprise. Dart was star- 
ing at her intently. "Gees, Dart, I 
didn't know it meant that much... I 
mean.. when Jack offered to take Kent 
for a weekend in New York, you were 
the first person I thought of. ".Thy 
didn't you tell me you wanted to see 
me? I had to invite myself out here 2" 

Dart took a deep breath. "'Jell, 
it seems our whole friendship-all those 
jrears when we were really close-began 
with just chance encounters and chance 
shared interests, and we just seemed to 
groove on them. I didn't want to tell 
you how much I wanted to see you be- 
cause..." Dart's voice dropped off, 
and she rubbed her eyes hard with her 
hands. She 'shrugged her shoulders and 
squared them back, seeming to gather 
herself for an effort. "I guess be- 
cause I didn't want you to know how 
much I really needed you." She looked 
at her friend and smiled, relieved 
that she had said those words. "And 

-17- 



because before, just rhrough chance, we 
were so good together that I didn't 
want to change it because I thought it 
wouldn't work." Dart searched her 
friend's eyes for a reaction. "How's 
that for a psyched-out analysis?" 

Jenny didn't respond: she simply 
looked at her friend. Realizations 
began to sweep over her-how their 
friendship had all been chance, but how 
real their feelings about each other 
had grown to be. The love the two had 
felt for each other years ago had never 
been sought out by either-it had just 
happened and grown Jrith shared experi- 
ences, and been a part of their lives 
they had taken for granted, even as 
each had changed over the years. They 
had, Jenny thought, grown increasingly 
apart, as even the best of friends do 
when visits become yearly instead of 
daily. Now, with a start, Jenny rea- 
lised that Dart was asking her to re- 
new their friendship and love. Jenny's 
own life was happily fulfilled now, and 
she lived a thousand miles from these 
hills and the isolated town where her 
artist friend had come. 

As if to reinforce her thoughts, 
Jenny felt Dart's hand squeeze her 
shoulder. "Hey," Dart said, "This is 
tray too heavy— the heat's gone to ray 
brain." She laughed, a trifle forced, 
and added, "Let's go back to the home- 
stead." 

Jenny stood still and took her 
friend's hand in both her own. "Dart, 
you're right, and I apologize to you 
for being too stupid to see what's hap- 



pening. I've just understood what 
you're getting at. lie just can't rely 
on chance anymore for good friends and 
happiness to drop cfut of the -sky. T -/e 
just don't have that luxury." 

Dart remained quiet, waiting for 
Jenny to continue, but her friend did 
not speak. She dropped her hand and 
stared for a moment at the now dusky 
sky which hinted at the presence of 
stars. 

Jenny gazed at the fine, strong, 
independent features of Dart's face 
that the world was witness to, and the 
eyes that how intentionally conveyed 
no feeling. Jenny crossed the small 
distance that separated them in two 
quick steps and embraced her friend 
quickly, strongly, and released her. 
"lion amie," she said, stepping back. 
"How about that fire you promised?" 
Dart cocked her head, smiled, and gave 
up a chuckle that sounded like a song. 

They crossed the glen to the road 
and departed, running slowly, on their 
journey. 

$ 3JC $ 9& jj; 

J. D. Guse 

The pen is mightier 
whenl'm bored. 



Colleen Moloney 

My Beautiful Friend 

I just want to say thank you, 

for picking me up when the 
only way I saw to go, was 
down . . . 

for restoring ray faith in 
life when I saw no reason to 
go on. .. 

for saying everything you've 
ever said - without even 
knowing my name. 

You said these beautiful things 

then you were gone. 

Where did you go? - What were you 

doing? 

Four years later you show up. 

I've missed you - your helping hand, 

your magical words. 

You've changed — 

you seem to have lost all the 
faith you showed me. 

You've changed— 

you seem cynical, pessimistic, 
your words don't sound familiar. 

You've changed— doesn't everybody? 
doesn't everything? 

What will never change is the past - 
what you did for me. 

And like I started to say before I 
was taken by my emotions — thank you 
My beautiful friend. . .Thank You. 
***** 

Jason Coleman 
To Tell A Lie 

"Calling all liars. Calling all 
liars," the megaphone warbled. Stuf- 
fing the uneaten portion of a hotclog 
into my saliva tomb, I left the con- 
cession area and headed toward the 
voice. The magnifying glass overhead 
burnt the area; however, a colorful 
breeze traveling through the carnival 
atmosphere neutralized the heat's ef- 
fect. 

In the distance, more people 
swarmed around the presentation plat- 
form, and the amplified larynx con- 
tinued, "Our last entries will begin 
in just a few minutes and then we will 
all find out who are this year's 
'Worlds Greatest Liars'." From the 
crowd, which was still forming through- 
out the open area, arose a chuckling 
cheer, ascending to block the mid day 
sun. I lengthened my zebra trot so as 
not to miss any of the action. 

I was quite surprised to encounter 
as many video crews as I did. The 
yearly event always captured national 
attention, bringing fleeting fame to 
its small, raid-western, sponsoring 

-13- 



town, but this time it must have pulled 
publicity in from all corners. I con- 
sidered the coverage interesting and 
contemplated their definition of news. 

The country surroundings added to 
the merryment. Booths of all varieties 
scattered the landscape, and a pumpkin 
umbrella enclosed a large expo arena 
selling worthless tidbits. Jorthless to 
the public, but of prized value to all 
participating hobbyists. 

"It's really wonderful that the 
initiator of this award came forward 
and started this tradition fourty-five 
years ago," the announcer added jokingly, 
"I'm amazed someone didn't get the idea 
sooner. People tell fibs every day." 

Joining the lake of heads and hats, 
I took his statement a bit more seri- 
ously. Sure, I was as fun loving as the 
rest of the people at this three day 
"Falsehood Festival", but my attitude 
toward the subject seemed more refined. 
1 felt that most everyone did not rea- 
lize the psychology behind lying; fur- 
thermore, a strong sense of guilt ac- 
companied the others approach. I had 
once responded that way. 

I think w/ greatest inspiration 
came from a man I never met. Trygve 
Lie, a Norwegian, and the first Secre- 
tary General of the United Nations, 
sparked the fire within me to go out in- 
to the world and give it all that was in 
me. Nothing in particular he said clear- 
ed the filibuster in my mind. It was 
just the combination of his name and the 
work he was associated with. . .politics. 

As the final few outlandish, out- 
rageous, and indepth fibs continued to 
be featured from the front of the make- 
shift stage, my perception of the idea 
widened. I mean if you are going to 
tell a lie, make it a good one' I fig- 
ured that lying is one of the few things 
left to do which is neither illegal or 
controlled. It is only controlled by 
your own creativity, and only illegal 
in the court room. I questioned the 
court room. 

With free religion allowing dis- 
belief in the Bible, an oath of truth 
is unreliable; on top of that, a lie de- 
tector only records physiological phe- 
nomena supposedly connected with lying: 
abnormal respiration, perspiration, or 
abnormal heartbeat. I would certainly 
condole an unhealthy or athletic person 
hooked up to one of those cardboard con- 
traptions. 

Anxiously awaiting the results 
from the festival's activities, I sur- 
veyed. the assemblage. A splinter of 
hope swept in front of me, for fortu- 
nately, I realized that lying had be- 
come more popular lately. Bach indi- 
vidual, honing to gain recognition in 
the category of their selection, muss 
have some interpretation of fibbing fi- 
nesse. From this remote location i." 
Wisconsin, my competitors would return 
to their respective homes across the 
country. Some would participate in de- 
ceptive business deals and corporate 
lies; others to child rearing with the 
Easier bunny and the tooth fair*'. The 



To Tell A Lie (cont'd) 



Kline's Kolumn (cont'd) 



splinter grew into a giant redwood, and 
a proud feeling of accomplishment burn- 
ed within me. 

"The first prize winner in the es- 
say division of our awards this after- 
noon, with the original selection 'If 
you don't have enough nerve to equivo- ' 
cate, at least stretch the truth' is.." 

The pause was no suspense builder 
to me. I was totally taken aback when 
I heard my title. I had received an 
honorable mentidh a few years ago, but 
I simply enjoyed^ participation. Step- 
ping forward to ^accept the award , my 
mind went blank. Gone were any philo- 
sophical implications I could pass 
along. I guess there was actually no 
need. 

I proceeded in the jest of the 
situation, "You know it really came as 
no surprise to me that I won this award. 
Not that I'm boastful. I was chatting 
with Ireene Hughes yesterday in London, 
and she told me the news from a vision 
that came to her in a nightmare...." 

* $ $ $ 3JC 

Pat r.ulder 
Ode to a Jooleyworm 

Fuzzy little fellas 

'jest scrunchin 'cross the road, 
North ones goin' South, 

'n South ones goin' North, 
warming furry bellies, 

'n gettin' squished like jelly I 

Hey, guys, I gotta tell ya - 

there's weeds the same 

one side 'er tfce other, 

and them that hides 

on leaf or stem 

don't come to no grief - 

so keep them stubby little feet 

outta' the middle 'a the street i 

>£ 5|« % * * 

Marsha Kline 

Kline's Kolumn 

Some people disgust mel You know- 
the one's who eat all the time and never 
gain an ounce. Ily husband for instance- 
three meals prepared for the Giant in 
the castle at the top of Jack's Bean- 
stalk and a hearty midnight snack 
enough to feed the six hungry kids next 
door, and still he maintains his neat 
trim little body. And then-those people 
who shrug their shoulder's and say 
something like, "Desserts? No, I've 
never been a sweet eater. That's one 
thing I've just never cared for!" 
Have you ever run into the raw vegetable 
snacker? Now there's a person who real- 
ly knows how to bring me down. And 
then there's me. I eat the cookie 
dough before it goes into the oven to 
bake because I just can't wait any 
longer and looking into a bakery window 
adds 10 lbs. instantly! So what do you 



do when you were born to crave sweets, 
love food and insist on staying slim? 
•Jell, you spend a lot of time dreaming, 
little time eating and the remainder 

of time 

FRUSTRATED! 
***** 

Brad Hayes 
Quiet Crossfire 

In June, on the lalces of the 
Quetico-Superior, the ffin shines throu? 
the crisp air of northern Minnesota wit 
an unexpected power. Mirrored by the 
clean surface of clear waters flowing 
north from the Lawrencian Divide, its 
force is doubled. Striking face, neck 
and hands from above as well as below, 
it weathers everyone traveling within 
its rein. The experienced look of 
health and exposure come quickly as 
the sun and wind do their work. 

Flowing free to Hudson Bay and be- 
yond, the waters are drawn from the up- 
per reaches of Minnesota, north through 
Ontario Province. Lined with fir and 
birch, the deep lakes are strung out 
along a great connecting waterway. 
Lakes are linked one to another by 
Whitewater runs, wide, deep channels 
of fast flowing water, and cascading 
falls. For canoe travelers moving . 
north through this system of water and 
sun, the routine of traveling from one 
lake to another provides, welcome re- 
lief from the crossfire of sun and its 
rebound. 

As the bow of the aluminum canoe 
began to slide iro onto the gravel shor 
line, Nick and Bill each thrust back 
from their seats to push the' canoe up 
another few inches onto the rocks. 
Nick lept ashore and pulled on the 17 
foot craft which had brought him and 
Bill up through the long series of 
lakes and portages. Bill climbed out 
and joined Nick as he pulled once more, 
sliding the canoe up onto the shore. 
The men irorked quickly to unload thei] 
equipment. 

"'■Jhich do you want, Nick?" 

"I'll take the canoe, then let-'s 
come back for the rest." 

After hoisting the canoe up over 
his head and lowering its yoke to his 
shoulders, Nick started down the trai. 
with Bill walking in front guiding the 
bow. Bill carried paddles and life 
jackets. 

For Nick the portage was the las 
push before a welcome rest. He knew 
that the bumpy trail of rough ups and 
downs would end with the splash of th.. 
canoe being pushed off his shoulders 
onto the clear surface of the next la r 
The canoe was heavy. Its weight presv 
sed doxm hard on his jshoulde^rs. Nick 
moved quickly along £he trail hoping tc 
find the shoreline and relief over eac.' 
rise in the trail. 

"Then the bottom of the canoe 



-19- 



Quiet Crossfire (cont'd) 



Quiet Crossfire (cont'd) 



finally slapped the quiet surface at 
the end of the portage Nick straightened 
and felt the muscles at the back of his 
neck recoil from the strain of carry- 
ing the heavy load. Mick stopped a mo- 
ment and gazed across the blue water. 

"God, it's great here. Really 
perfect." After another moment he con- 
tinued, "The space just draws it all 
right out of you. 

"Things are simpler here too," 
said 'Nick, "when you're up here every- 
thing back home stops. It's not there 
xtfaiting for us; it ends. Up here 
you T re so far away from it the rest of 
it doesn't even exist anymore. Here 
it's just trees, water and sun. 

"You know, from here we could go 
up through the Quetico into Ontario all 
the way to Hudson Bay." 

As Nick stood on the pebbled shore 
he felt a slight movement of air off 
the blue water against his now ruddy 
face. "I've thought of this place a- 
lot since vie were here last. It's a 
touchstone for me. Nemories of the 
water and sun of the Quetico-Superior 
always remind me of other times we've 
had: other places we've been. You 
know Bill, we've seen a lot. The Bear- 
tooth, the Absorka, the Nissions, Vail. 
They were all good. Its always been 
good. " Nick stood for a moment before 
continuing, " r .7e should do it more often. 
It really doesn't matter where we are. 
It's always good." 

Bill hesitated as both men watch- 
ed a wind gust cross the water before 
them; its path marked by a pattern of 
small surface riffles. "You're right 
Nick. It is good here." 

As they turned to retrace their 
steps Nick felt the absence of the 
heavy canoe. His light tennis shoes 
seemed to bound down the trail. The 
path ran along a series of tumbling 
falls. 

"Coine on lets take a look," Nick 
said as he broke from the trail and 
cut over to the rushing stream. Bill 
followed as Nick led the way through 
the brush to the edge of the rapids. 

Before them they saw huge volumes 
of water pounding down the rocky chan- 
nel which seoarated the two large 
quiet lakes. The sounds of the falls 
had been masked by the heavy growth 
surrounding the narrow waterway. 

Standing on the large flat rocks 
above the chasm each felt the power of 
the waves pulsing over the boulders be- 
low. Nick watched as Bill stared in- 
tently into the pool below the falls. 

Bill stood far out on a large 
rock, ./ind, blowing down the channel, 
brought the cool spray of heavy mist. 
Nearly hypnotised by the sound and mo- 
tion, Bill watched the water pour in- 
to the dark pool below. There, in that 
cold deep hole where bubbles seemed to 
take minutes to reach the surface, Bill 
fixed his gaze. 

Nick studied Bill as he stood mo- 
tionle&s on the ed^c of the large out- 



cropping. The deafening sound contin- 
ued as the mist rose up from the cold 
rushing water. ;Jhen the men finally 
left the cool moist corridor neither 
spoke. Soon they reached the place 
where they had left their packs and 
quickly gathered their gear for the trip 
back up the trail to where they had 
left the canoe. 

"./hen they finally reached the canoe 
they loaded the packs. The life jackets 
and extra paddles were put under the 
seats. Nick took his place in the boxtf. 
Silently, Bill pushed off and the canoe 
slipped quietly from the cool shade in- 
to the unforgiving glare of the sun. 



•%. ifc sj; £ >Jc 



J. 



u. 



Guse 



Jild Blue Horizons 

Jild Blue Horizons, 
like nothing I've seen 

before. 
Waiting silently, after 

the storm, 
for the colors to 

burst forth, 
to control my mind, 
and to put a cap 
on a beautiful 

picture. 

!p 3p V W 

Tom Iladai 
Off The Beaten Path 

T .Jelcome to IIcDonald's, scene of 
much of today's tour. I have arranged 
a complete tour of the store during its 
daily operation. Let's listen as the 
crew functions smoothly: 

"Back room, we need boar's vomit 
on two — I mean ice!" 

The person assigned to that group 
of tasks collectively known as "Back 
Room" is also responsible for supplying 
condiments and meat to the Grill Team, 
shake mix, sundae mix, cups, and any- 
thing else that happens to be in short 
supply. Notice how the person in the 
pickle suit gets the ice from the ma- 
chine; I've heard that he hits the ice 
bucket fully sixty per cent of the time 
now, which is a big improvement over 
what he did last tour. 

He often has to make two trips, 
because only half the ice in the bucket 
actually makes it to the bin. Hey, you, 
with the ice bucket! Come here I 

"'./hat?" 

"Jould you please explain to these 
people why only half the ice ever makes 
it to the bin?" 

"Certainly. First, however, I'g 
like to know how many of ^ r ou are fami- 
liar with Newtonian physics. Motoodrl 
It figures. " 

"Just what does Newtonian physics 
have to do with your clumsiness* 11 

"Nothing, rtMlly; I just wanted to 
kaw wfto olse toews it besides me. I 



Off The Beaten Path (cont'd) 



Off The 'Beaten Path (cont'd) 



also don't spill ice that often, at 
either stage. .Now if you'll excuse me, 
I'll fill the bin." 

"Ten to one he spills at least 
some ice." an anonymous viewer rye lied*" . 

Thirt2 r seconds later, not an ice 
cube xras to be found outside the bins, 
unless you count the ones under the 
counter. Here is a window person. 
Let's talk xfith her. 

"Excuse me, but 70 u don't seen to 
be too busy at the moment; is it all 
right if you talk with us?" 

"Sure. Hhat do you -.rant to knou?" 

"First of all, we'd like to know 
how you feel towards the advertising 
the corporation does. For example, how 
do you like it when the powers-that-be 
say that grill people love to cook?" 

"I agree only half way. I mean, 
we like to serve the public and all 
that, but when little old ladies order 
specials, or anyone else, for that mat- 
ter, does, we dislike it! I think that 
the people on grill say it best; hit it, 
boys ! " 

"Hold the pickle, hold the lettuce, 
special orders sure upset us, all we ask 
is that you let us serve it our way!" 

"".Jell, that was certainly an in- 
teresting statement. 'Jhat do the rest 
of the crew have to say?" 

"He really mean it!" 



"Back room ! 



Wwl.p -n vj It 



Excuse me, but how did you know 



that 



the shake machine is drained?" 
"The only thing that comes out is 
syrup, and the lights are on." 

"The mix is in, and as official 
tester, I xn.ll have some boar's vomit 
to slake my thirst," said the guy in the 
pickle suit. 

"ky xrord, you people certainly have 
odd dietary tastes around here. How 
does one get boar's vomit from the k 
shake machine?" 

"It's quite simple, actually. 
Just mix all three flavors of shake. 
How's it look, Sim? 1 ' 

"Get away from me! You're icky!" 
she said. "He also drinks suicides." 



all 



"I take it a suicide is a mi. 
the drinks?" 



of 



nv, 



es. They're pretty good, but 



boar's vomit is disgusting. If you'd 
like, I'll make one for each of you." 

"Actually, I xras thinking more 
about boar's vomit. It sounds inter- 
esting. And while you're at it, pour 
a. suicide in x-rith the boar's vomit. " 

"Excuse me a second, olease. 
THOHASl Get over here!" 

"You screeched?" he said. "I hops 
it's important, because the toxjel duel 
of the century is going on right nou, 
and I don't xrant to miss it!" 
".fny did you do it?" 

"Do what?," 

"Look at xdiat they ' re drinking ! " 

"It looks like fermented rat in- 
testines to me. It's better than boar's 
vomit, and is chock full ox vitamin C." 

"You're sick!" 

-21- 



"Thank you. Flattery will get you 
Since the duel is over by 
now, I will do my cleanup. Tnile you 
have been loafing up here, the store 
has closed, the food has been counted 
and eaten, and yours truly has washed 
almost all the dishes. You have yet to 
start your cleanup, which means you'll 
be here when the dawn arrives on the 
morroxi. " 

This has been a walk OFF THE 
B3AT3N PATH. Thank you for bearing with 
us on'wgiat is the fi«rst of a l<j»ng series 
of tours. And remember, 

Tnen you're feeling tired and weary 

In need of some relief, 

Talk to k.s. O'leary, 

Our one misguided chief! 

?f. >£ ;[: >'f >'£ 

Jason Coleman 
Cult Of Gods Beyond 

Sunshine burred the mountain ridge 
and began to bend down the slopes to- 
ward a village. Hoxjever, sweat x-jas al- 
ready heavy on the islanders' foreheads, 
as light rays silhouetted their forms. 
Although the clear mid-day sky was al- 
ready tropic blue, all workers awoke 
simultaneous to the unseen sunrise on 
the oceans edge hours before; further- 
more, they were continuing religious 
requirements necessary to their cult. 
.Jith each increase in brilliance over 
the mostly barren land, one would have 
glimpsed the several thousand busy na- 
tives, each probably wondering about 
the cultural origin of their combined 
effort!?,. " 8 a \ 

Great stories of the past from 
leader-teacher Homoko-Hani convinced 
at least one Polynesian. Rano Ahtau, 
carding several large stone axes, made 
his way across a steep, rocky slope to- 
ward the open work area. Handing the 
newly sharpened tools to laboring 
sculptors in trade for those worn and 
dull, Rano's thoughts questioned only 
if some fortunate, forthcoming day he 
too would carve "the giants" alongside 
many fellow villagers. For the present, 
however, he diligently attended to his 
assigned duty of hammering, scraping, 
and shaping the cumbersome utensils. 

Ahtau was considerably lucky, com- 
pared to the multitude of muscular 
workers on this particular section of 
the island, because he had necessary 
need for mobility. ".Thereas the builders 
naturally kept stationary, in a group 
related environment, the repeated 
round trips, from rocky cliff areas 
With sharpening stones to "the giants'" 
birthplace resting on the volcanic 
slopes, allowed Rano to view the scenic 
coastline. Host importantly, he could 
behold the standing figures themselves, 
guarding the island, upon their altars. 

Staring at the open-bowled eyes 
and the straight forward chin, or jut- 
ting lower jaw protuding like an imoene- 



Cult of Gods Beyond (cont'd) 



The Christmas Gift (cont'd) 



trating vessel's bow, the rather young, 
dark skinned male stood silently. Once 
again in awe of the hundreds of statues 
beyond Rano's vantage point, the mono- 
liths observed so often sent a strange 
chill of warmth, unfelt before, through 
his inspired body. 

He remembered Momoko's explanation 
of the Bird-man ritual in which Rano's 
own father was fatally mailed by sharks, 
while attempting to swim to the Nui is- , 
let for a manutara egg. He couldn't 
remember his father. He recalled the 
Hiva Mantou ceremony on a day when winds 
and rains were so troublesome that the 
gods were disputed by many chiefs. He 
didn't understand the civil war that 
followed or the separation of his people. 
A wise Moko restored order to one clus- 
ter and renewed some beliefs; however, 
the cult had lost man power. Rano re- 
membered the prophecies of destruction 
if the religion didn't survive; a 
point Hani emphasized. 

The thunderous sound of Rano's 
thoughts echoed through the area, and 
in that instant he was encased by lava 
from behind. Billowous dense smoke 
blocked the afternoon sun, while a wall 
of waves simmering with steam oozed 
down the mountain. Most of those de- 
stroyed left with eyes toward embryos 
of stone and minds in a similar state. 
At least one understood; leaving us to 
wonder. 

Some large erect heads protude to- 
day from volcanic ground in the Pacific 
on Easter Island. 

* sjc % 9je sje 

Jennifer Hunt 
The Christmas Gift 

A ray of sunlight pierced the gap 
between the curtains and explored the 
sleeping face of the elderly woman 
sprawled over a rumpled bed. Clad in a 
uniform that marked me as a worker in 
this Old Folks' Home, I made my way to- 
xrard the windox^ and slowly, quietly 
pulled the cord that parted the curtains, 

An explosion of sunlight diffused 
itself into the room, and the eyelids 
of the drowsy patient reluctantly flut- 
tered, acknowledging the sudden bright- 
ness. 

"Mrs. O'Leary," I said gently, 
still battling a tinge of guilt that 
played on my nerves. "Mrs. O'Leary, 
it's time to get up." 

"Gimme five more minutes," she 
begged, not opening her eyes. 

I signed and smiled a little. "All 
right," I murmured. "But you slept 
late, and you need to be down to eat 
your breakfast soon." Then, remembering 
I added, "Merry Christmas Eve, Mrs. 
' Leary . " 

rs. O'Leary didn't reply, and I 
left the room. Since she was the last 
patient for me to awaken, I headed for 
the kitchen to help get the breakfast 
trays ready for the patients. On my 
way I vassed the till, stately c\rer- 

-2.?- 



green laced with tinsel and ornaments 
that x\ras a reminder of tomorroxtf's holi- 
day. Other decorations, including 
wreaths, had been made by patients, and 
these were hung about the lobb*' to com- 
plement the tree, the room's present 
main attraction. The total effect x-jas 
bright and cheerful. 

Spurred by this sight into remem- 
bering my plan, I glanced at my xratch 
to be sure I had time enough, and slip- 
ped into a pay phone booth in the lobby. 

With childish excitement, I in- 
serted two dimes and dialed Tony's num- 
ber. 

Tony's voice on the line was plea- 
sant. "Hello?" 

"Tony, it's me, Lisa! " 

"Oh . . .hit" 

"I just called to say that I can't 
xra.it till you come doxxn to our house to- 
night because I have a terrific present 
for youi Oh, and I was xrondering if 
you could come a little earlier--Hom 
says xfe'll eat at six-" 

"Lisa," The uncertainty in Tony's 
voice xfas so thick that I sensed it 
over the line, miles away. 

"/■Ihat's wrong? Can't you come to- 
night? Oh . . . Tony ..." 

"Look, Lisa," Tony sighed, "It's 
been so difficult." 

"What had?" 

"You and me living so far apart — 
going to different high schools in dif- 
ferent towns. Ever since I moved it's 
been almost as though xre're from sepa- 
rate countries; things aren't the way 
they used to be . . . we hardly ever 
get to see each other-" 

"But we will tonight!" I exclaimed 
half-questioningly. 

Tony x-;as silent for a moment, and 
his reluctance to speak xreighed heavily 
on both of us. 

"I might as well tell you nox-j, Lisa. 
I . . . uh . . . xrell, I met this girl 
in my new high school ... we have a 
lot in common ... I really like her, " 
Tony said, and then, taking a deep 
breath added, "Lisa, I xron't be seeing 
you anymore . . . I'm really sorry." 

I felt injury and disbelief as I 
heard the click of the receiver on the 
other end of the line, and the immedi- 
ate hum of the phone. The horrible emp- 
tiness of rejection inflicted its x^ound 
in me. I felt slapped in the face. 
Even the glittering, ornamented Christ- 
mas tree laughed, at me as its lights 
winked on and off mockingly. 

I pinched myself to convince myself 
of the realitv of the situation, x^rhich 
could possibly turn out to be a night- 
mare. These things usually did, I told 
myself helplessly*; I wasn't in luck. 

This can't be true; I told myself 
over and over again as I vacated "the 
phone booth and sat down on one of the 
lounge chairs. If it were true, I'd be 
in tears. Thy wasn't I crying, snywayf 
I seemed to be unable to accept what had 
occurred, and because of that, could not 
bring myself to allow a p&nse of gloom 
io overtake my emotions* 



The Christmas Gift (cont'd) 

I had so looked forward to cele- 
brating our first Christmas together 
with Tony. I had taken for granted 
that it would be the first of many. I 
thought of the terrific sweater I'd 
spent many hours knitting for him to 
give him as a Christmas gift — something 
I'd put a great deal of time and effort 
into so that it would be meaningful. 
It was in green — his favorite color. 

I still could not bring myself to 
believe what had occurred. Although I 
had unconsciously feared this since 
Tony's move, the break-up was so sudden. 
Its total significance hadn't quite 
sunk in yet. 

I allowed my mind the luxury of 
pondering over past happinesses I'd 
shared with him, until a familiar voice 
behind me brought me back to the pre- 
sent. 

"Weill" exclaimed I Irs. O'Leary in 
mock horror. I looked up and rested my 
eyes on the diminutive patient, smiling 
kindly, seated in a wheelchair in 
feigned shock as she looked at me, "Look 
who's daydreaming on duty," she said. 
"Shame ! " 

As I studied the pale wrinkled 
face of the elderly woman, I suddenly 
was gripped by genuine fear of old age. 
I also felt overwhelming sympathy for 
all those withered souls who inhabited 
this home, including the rather ancient, 
yet still lively Mrs. O'Leary. 

I forced cheerfulness on myself, 
for this was an important part of my 
job. "Yes, I'll admit I'd probably be 
richer if I were paid for daydreaming 
time, instead of work time." 

Mrs. O'Leary chuckled and her eyes 
wrinkled at the corners. 

"I see that you're using a xtfheel- 
chair this morning. Are your legs 
bothering you again?" I asked. 

The elderly woman glanced about to 
make certain that no one heard as she 
hoarsely xjhispered, "No, I'm just feel- 
ing lazy this morning." 

I managed a smile, although I 
kneitf she x-ras lying. Old age certainly 
hadn't dampened Mrs. O'Leary's sense 
of humor. I x-iished fervently that I 
could someday learn to cope with dis- 
appointment as some others did. 

Tony, I remembered with pain, had 
been one able to take disappointment in 
stride. 

I wheeled Mrs. O'Leary into the 
cafeteria to one of the tables at which 
the patients ate their meals, and left 
her with several other elderly patients 
xiho were absorbed in the process of 
eating. Watching some of them, one 
would have thought it x\ras a major ac- 
complishment to lift food with a fork 
and place it into one's mouth. Indeed, 
for some of these patients it xxas. 
I 'any were senile, or nearly so, and of- 
ten simply lacked the energy to accom- 
plish the feat of feeding themselves 
with any degree of ease. 

I remained for a fex-r moments after 
placing Mrs. O'Leary's breakfast tray 

-23- 



The Christmas Gift (cont'd) 

before her, and watched the other pa- 
tients eat, remaining nearby so that I 
could offer aid if necessary. Moved by 
the common force of hunger, the seated 
patients did their best. Yet many could 
feed themselves only xri.th as much pro- 
ficiency as a small child learning the 
act for the first time. 

I did not openly offer to help any 
of the patients, for I did not x-rant to 
tease their pride. Yet I hovered near- 
by in case any of the patients* would 
request help in their frustration. 

Tony would have admired the inde- 
pendent spirit that compelled these dis- 
abled elderly to do their best, I 
thought. This brought back the sting 
of memory. Although I'd still not ful- 
ly accepted what had occurred, the pain 
of rejection xras beginning to invade my 
emotions. I xranted to curl up in a 
corner and be forgotten. 

Perhaps I already belonged in an 
Old Folks' Home for, although only sev- 
enteen,- I felt considerably older. I 
felt that part of my life had caved in, 
making me empty. For the first time as 
I looked about the room I drex^r close to 
the vacant staring souls that occupied 
the space in the room. We all had some- 
thing in common. Rejection. Only these 
persons xrere rejected by their families, 
not boyfriends. 

Suddenly, an elderly man acciden- 
tally spilled a glass of orange juice, 
and he watched in fascination as the 
golden orange liquid moved in an ever- 
enlarging puddle across the table. The 
other patients, accustomed to such oc- 
currences, merely continued to" eat in 
silence. 

I leaped into action, quickly found 
a couple of paper napkins and used them 
to mop up the liquid before it could 
quite possibly drip onto a patient's 
lap. 

This action struck a familiar chord 
in my memory bank. The first time I'd 
met Tony, tall, good-looking, athletic, 
x>ras in the lunch line at school x-rhere 
I'd been jostled by another student ac- 
cidentally, as I had reached for a plas- 
tic cup of orange juice. The liquid had 
spilled over onto Tony's tray, and I'd 
spent the next few minutes in uttering 
axikward apologies and mopping the li- 
quid off his lunch tray xri.th a paper 
napkin. 

Had fate pulled that experience 
from my memory bank into the present to 
slap me in the face in painful recol- 
lection? I xxas jolted into realizing 
that Tony, who had been such an impor- 
tant person in my life in the past'fexj 
months, had now severed our relation- 
ship permanently. 

I gasped helplessly in an automatic 
preventative measure to keep from shed- 
ding tears. I could not restrain them, 
and xras soon sobbing. Without thinking, 
I ran from the room and, for lack of 
anyx^here else to go, I stepped into the 
lobby which, unusually, was empty. 



The Christmas Gift (cont'd) 



The Christmas Gift (cont'd) 



That is, empty except for the 
Christmas tree, a symbol of joy that 
had now become firmly annexed to unhap- 
piness in my mind. 

Sinking into one of the vinyl, 
cushioned chairs, I put my head in my 
hands and allowed myself the luxury of 
shedding my sorrow in -the form of 
tears. 

Soon I felt the presence of ano- 
ther person in the room. Looking up 
during a lull in my sobbing, I saw 
that, once -again it was my friend Mrs. 
O'Leary. "Go on," she encouraged. 
"Don't mind me. It's good to cry it 
all out, though I don't see any reason 
in crying over spilled milk. . . uh, 
orange juice in this case, I guess." 

I managed a smile through my mask 
of tears, but then my unhappiness smo- 
thered me again, and I began once again 
to cry. Mrs. O'Leary waited patiently 
as I took a tissue from the pocket of 
my uniform and wiped my tears. 

"Now," Mrs. O'Leary said, after my 
sobbing had quieted a little. "It's 
an awful shame to have such a young 
girl crying on Christmas Sve." She 
looked at me and added, "It's not just 
because of Mr. Cooper's orange juice 
accident, is it, Lisa?" 

I shook my head, and suddenly felt 
an overwhelming need for sympathy. Be- 
tween sobs and gasps for breath I then 
told her everything about Tony and me. 
"I - I feel so alone and s — so rejec- 
ted." I added afterwards. 

Mrs. O'Leary looked at the Chris- 
tmas tree without really seeing it and 
murmured. "I know what you mean." 

"N-— No you don't. Y'— You can't" 

"We all feel alone , at one time , " 
Mrs. O'Leary explained slowly. "At 
your age, Lisa, we feel alone because 
we're trying to slowly break away from 
our families; we have to become inde- 
pendent people and be accepted by 
others. . . When things don't work out 
right; when others reject us, we feel 
failure. " 

"And you? In your case, instead 
of trying to break away from your fam- 
ily. . •" 

"At my age, our families start to 
try to break away from us . " 

"Is that why your family put you 
in this home?" I whispered. 

"That's part of it. At ray age, 
you sort of expect it though." 

"Oh , " I sobbed in genuine sym- 
pathy. "How can you stand it?" 

"It's all a part of life, Lisa, 
and there isn't one thing we can do 
about it." 

"It still doesn't make me feel 
better about being rejected, I still 
feel. . . unwanted." 

Mrs. O'Leary once again looked at 
the Christmas tree, this time regard- 
ing it thoughtfully. "I suppose that's 
how Mary and Joseph felt when none of 
the i.nnkooncr's offered to Cake them 
it 

"This," I said suddenly, "Is a 

-2h- 



in 



cruel world. " 

"Wo, just unfair and difficult at 
times, but I don't think cruel 's the 
word for it." She paused and then 
went on. "I know you're upset about 
your boyfriend, but you're still very 
lucky. You still have your family, 
your friends. . . and us." 

I watched as several patients, 
finished with their breakfasts, wheel- 
ed themselves or walked themselves 
with canes from the direction of the 
cafeteria. As I watched the white fa- 
ces of the men and women, many who wo- 
uld have no relatives visiting them 
over the holidays. I sax* what Mrs. 
O'Leary said xias true. I was very 
lucky. 

"What about them. . . and you?" 
I whispered to her. 

"Well, most of us have families 

usually far away. But unfortunately 
we're often forgotten during the holi- 
days . " 

I suddenly saw my job in a new 
perspective, and immediately began mak- 
ing plans to spend more time xri.th each 
of the individual patients as I worked 
through part of my Christmas holidays. 
Keeping busy might also help me to for- 
get more quickly; by helping others, I 
could perhaps gain new insight into 
helping myself as well, 

I suddenly found, to my joy, that 
I had gained something of the true 
Christmas spirit, and it was welcome. 
I felt needed. 

I looked at Mrs. O'Leary. "Thanks," 
I whispered, "Thank you so much. You've 
helped me a great deal." 

As Mrs. O'Leary smiled and nodded, 
I suddenly recalled the green sweater 
I'd knitted for Tony as his Christmas 
gift from me. As I measured her with 
my eyes, I tried to calculate the alter- 
ing I'd have to do on the project, and 
stood up, smiling. 

"I'll have to get back to work now, 
Mrs. O'Leary," I said. "Bye now," I 
began to leave, but then turned and 
added, "Mrs. O'Leary?" 

The elderly woman wheeled herself 
closer to me in her chair and said, 
"Yes ? " 

"What's your favorite color?" 

A smile lifted her face playfully. 
"Why, I'm Irish, dear, remember? What 
else but green?" 

A glow warmed me as I said, "In 
that case, I think that you'll like 
your Christmas gift from me very much 
. . .Merry Christmas, Mrs. O'Learyi" 

Jennifer Hunt 

Swish i Swish J 

Swish 1 Swish; 
The cat's tail 
slashes through 
the grass while 
s talking to prey 
House I Pounce t 
Swish! 



Julie O'Connell 



This Story Has No Title (cont'd) 



This Story Has Wo Title 

It's funny, she thought, how her 
first impression of him x\ras also her 
last. 

School had started only one week 
ago so she wasn't tired of it yet. But 
she knew she would grow to dislike it, 
so when the chance to leave the small 
college town for a weekend came up, 
she grabbed at it. The local radio 
station had announced that a student 
was looking for a rider to Chicago for 
the Labor Day weekend. 

They arrived over an hour late. 
She hated waiting for anyone. Now she 
recognized Brad, the driver. He work- 
ed at the school radio station. That 
angered her further. Everyone knew 
the d.j.'s there were "pot heads" and 
"professional students". He had a bad 
complexion and a bad mouth. The other 
rider's name was Jon- He wore glasses 
and had a big nose. "Birds of a fea- 
ther, " she thought. They drove to 
pick up yet another rider. She was 
sitting in the back seat next to a 
cooler and Jon turned around and tried 
to start up a conversation. He was de- 
finitely interested but tried too hard. 
She ansxtfered his questions but offered 
no more information. The next rider, 
Eric, wore a headband around his long 
blonde hair. "What have I gotten my- 
self into?" she wondered. 

As they sped onto the highway 
Brad and Jon asked her to open up the 
cooler and hand them a beer. 

"Take one," Brad said. 

"Ho thanks," she replied. 

Then Jon lit up a joint and pas- 
sed it around. 

"No thanks," she said again. 

"This is just great" she thought. 
"All we need is to get pulled over by 
a cop for speeding." 

The drive seemed to take forever. 

The three friends reminisced about 
partying and buying dope in Mexico. 

Slamming the front door of her 
home, she yelled "What a bunch of jerks, 
But now she was relieved to be home 
and her temper cooled as she chatted 
xjith her older sister. 

It was getting late when they ar- 
rived back at school. Brad had brought 
back a carload of junk so Jon gave her 
a ride to her place in his own car so 
Brad could start unloading. 

Jon seemed like a decent person 
today; not like the jerk she first iaet. 

He carried her suitcase inside 
and continued talking while copying 
dox>m her phone number. Usually she wo- 
uld have been angered at such audacity, 
but tonight it seemed funny. 

"What makes this guy think I'd 
even want to go out with him?" she 
thought. "Oh well, I'll just say no 
anyway. " 

She was working on homework at the 
kitchen table when the phone rang. It 
wasn't surprising to hear it was Jon. 
silhat surprised her was hearing herself 

-25- 



say "yes" to a Friday night dinner date. 

After she hung up she wondered 
why she had said yes. 

He arrived promptly and she was 
disappointed to see he was wearing his 
glasses, which sat crooked on his big 
nose. Was she hoping he would look 
better without them? 

He had made lasagne and poured red 
wine into champagne glasses. They sat 
facing each other perched on bar stools 
at a*rough wooden bar.' 

*He told' her the* story of tiernr he 
and his roommate stole the wood for the 
bar from a construction site. 

After dinner, they sat on the 
couch talking and drinking wine. There 
was a pause in the conversation and he 
turned and started kissing her. Big, 
wet, sloppy kisses. When he finally 
stopped, she felt like wiping her face 
with her hand but resisted the impulse. 

He had swim practice early the 
next morning so he brought her home be- 
fore the evening was very late. 

"He's nice," she thought. "I hope 
to see him again. " 

She was surprised x>rhen he called 
just one day later and wanted to play 
tennis. They met at the courts and had 
only played a short x^hile when he wanted 
to quit and have a talk. 

They walked through the park and 
sat under a tree by the pond. He said 
he felt there x-ras something really spe- 
cial between them. She ims silent but 
her mind clicked away. 

"How about some feedback?" he 
said. 

■ .'She hadn't expected this. She 
wanted to continue seeing him but' wasn't 
sure of her feelings yet and told him 
this. 

He started kissing her and slowly 
pushed her back till she was lying in 
the grass with him on top. 

"This is ridiculous," she thought. 
"We're in a public park in the middle 
of a Sunday afternoon." 
„ She pulled away from his sloppy 
kisses and sat up again. 

She and a friend had just left a 
party when she spotted Jon's beat up 
old Cutlass. She hopped out at the 
next corner and ran to his windoxj. He 
and a friend were driving around drink- 
ing and smoking dope. He would meet 
her back at his place. 

They went to his room. There x^as 
a mattress on the floor and numerous 
bean hag chairs. She chose a bean bag 
and he sat in one next to her. After 
awhile he moved to the same one with 
her and started kissing her and pressing 
his body on hers. 

She wished he wouldn't be so phys- 
ical so she didn't stay too long. 

. The next night they went to a fra- 
ternity party. It x*as hot and they 
danced most of the night. 

"Let's go swimming.," he said. 
"Where are we going to go at this 
hour?" 



This Story Has No Title (cont'd) 



This Story Has No Title (cont'd) 



"Over at the school pool. I know 
how to get in. " 

She felt like being a little crazy 
so they drove over to the gym and snuck 
in a back door. She stuck a toe in the 
water and walked around the pool. She 
looked up to see Jon hop naked onto the 
diving board and splash into the water. 

She hadn't thought too much about 
it before noitf, but now she realized 
what this was leading up to. She hesi- 
tantly started taking off her clothes. 
She had slept with some of her boy- 
friends in high school and college, but 
was never comfortable being seen naked. 
While Jon Trent off the diving boards 
she floated on her back in the shallow 
end. She didn't particularly care to 
see naked men either. 

He snuck up underwater and grabbed 
her and they laughed and splashed a- 
round. 

They xrent into the locker room and 
stood under a hot shower kissing. For 
once she didn't mind his sloppy kisses. 
The warmth of the water and his body, 
the few drinks she had had, and the 
apprehension that they could get caught 
all made it seem nice and exciting. 

They got dried off and dressed 

and headed to her place. 

Jon spent the night that evening, 
and every: night after that. It fol- 
lowed naturally that he should move in 
with her. He even promised he would 
quit smoking dope. 

They bought a water bed and built 
the frame. They built shelves for his 
junk. They played tennis, racquetball, 
want bike riding, went to football 
games and concerts, cooked out in the 
park, did their homework and studied. 

'.Jhen the semester ended, they 
headed to their respective homes for 
Christmas vacation. 

She had only been home one day 
xirhen her sister asked her to go to a 
bar in a nearby small town. They had 
only been there a short while when they 
were asked if they would join two young 
men at the other end of the bar. She 
started to say "no" but her sister had 
already agreed. She tried to ignore 
the blonde man with a moustache that s 
sat next to her. He kept talking and 
she eventually got interested in the 
conversation. He was tall and well 
built and had deep blue eyes. His 
name was Hark and his friend was Bruce. 

They all decided to go out to 
breakfast after the bar closed. The 
next day Hark called and would pick up 
her and her sister. Of course, he 
would bring a friend. 

They went bowling and then to his 
apartment to play electronic TV games. 
They had a fun time even though she 
felt a little childish. 

Hark lightly kissed her good night 
and said he hoped to see her again. 

The next day Jon called. He had 
arranged for them to ro skiing in Wis- 
consin for a week. They left late 
thnt jtlgbt and aiTxv&d eai'ly tho next 

-26- 



morning. 

Before she met Mark she had de- 
cided to marry Jon. But now things 
had changed. Hark x^asn't that impor- 
tant to her. He x>ras nice and fun to . 
be around, but he wasn't Hr. Right. 
What he made her realize was that she 
xjas too young to be "promised" to 
someone. She still xranted to date 
other men. Ho re than one man found 
her desirable. 

She knew better then to tell him 
this all at once. She worked around 
to dropping a hint, so the suggestion 
was planted in his mind. 

Everything Jon did that x-jeek gra- 
ted on her nerves. She couldn't stand 
his sloppy kisses and rejected his ad- 
vances at night. She x^as bitchy and 
x\rished she'd, never come skiing. 

Each night she brought up the 
subject of breaking up. 

She didn't think he was getting 
the message xjhen one morning he asked 
her to marry him. 

"No," she said. "School comes 
first. You know that." 

He had known the answer before he 
asked, so why had he bothered? 

She was glad to finally be back 

in Chicago and away from Jon. She 
avoided him and went out with Hark. 

Jon returned to school early for 
swim practices and a meet. 

She dreaded returning to school. 
How was she going to get rid of some- 
one she had loved and lived with? 

'Jhen she arrived she xfas amazed 
to find the place spotless and fresh 
flowers in a vase on the table. 

Jon act3d like things hadn't 
changed between them. She stood mo- 
tionless with her arms at her side as 
he hugged and kissed her. His big, 
wet sloppy kisses disgusted her and 
she wiped her face with her hand. She 
pushed him away and mumbled that she 
xras tired after the long drive and wa- 
nted to unpack her car. 

That night she clung to the edge 

of the water bed and acted like an 

icicle toxrard Jon's advances. After 

another two days she couldn't take it 

any longer. She told him she didn't 
love him anymore and wa nted him to 

move out. 

They fought and screamed at each 
other most of that night and the next 
day. He refused to move out. He told 
her hoxr he had lied to her many times 
and she had believed him. He had sto- 
len many of the things he had and had 
never quit smoking dope at all. He 
told her how the large dents in his 
car were from when he hit a parked 
car and left the scene of the accident. 
He called her names and shouted ob- 
scenities. 

Finally she was left with no al- 
ternative than to call his father and 
ask him to intervene. Jon feared his 
father and agreed to move one. 

She helped him move out, she was 
that glad to be getting rid of him. 



This Story Has No Title (cont'd) 



Julie O'Connell 



For xxeeks afterwards she received sar- 
castic, insulting letters and phone calls 
from Jon. 

He' would regret everything that he 
had said. He had never stopped loving 
her and was only lashing out because of 
the deep hurt he felt. 

She xias' right. He soon began stop- 
ping by, hoping to still be friends. He 
often cried. It disgusted her to watch 
him cry. He whimpered like a child. It 
made her angry, not sympathetic. 

The damage was done. He had hurt 
her with his lies, making a fool of her. 
Yet he claimed that he loved her and 
would never lie again. How could she be 
expected to believe that? 

She refused to see him or talk to 
him anymore. She wanted no more of his 
tears or promises. 

Later in the semester, she heard 
that Jon xras talking about her around 
the campus. 

After everything they had been 
through, she thought it-was funny how 
her first impression of him xxas also her 
last. 

V 'fi % h* *p 

Pat Bohler 

Nancy 
Wife of John 



Dreams 

Soaring high like kites 
Waiting for reality 
Summer dreams glide by 

Dreams are fantasies 

Held tight in midnight secrets 

Longing to come true 

Like hearts deep in love 
Dreams are shattered and broken 
"Til spring sA *stfines through - ? 

Dreams are people's toys 
Played with until they are xrorn 
Then replaced by nex; 

Dreams are butterflies 
Fluttering through summer trees 
Leaving memories 

Dreams are aging books 
Opened again and again 
As winter creeps by. 

* " * >|S * # 9JC 



Her spirit rides my thoughts, prodding my search. T 

for the essence of her warmth. 

From her grave does the Violet nod to tell me of 

her frolic through Tidewater Springs? 

And from the Oak does the Robin's song accompany 

her dance through Bluegrass Summers? 

Does the Brook novr murmur secrets of her love 

that flowed through Prairie Autumns? 

And do the bitter winds tell of her flight 

through desolate winters? 

I've sought the warmth of this Nancy, Wife of 

John and I found her in the seasons. 

I've fingered the weathered stone above her .fragile 

bones and I have loved her. 

Life giving as the earth that claimed her. 

Eternally lost but for the atone that names her. 



f * * 



. }jnv ~ Petoioon 

Then How? 

We could 'write a story 

Very dark and awfully rorv 

To flush the ughlies out, 

We even could shout. 

Or we could sneer and be moan 

And noisily steam 

Ranting and raving 

No anger saving 

"Til up**-* aii flushed out 

There would be no doubt. 

Then when our anger x/as gone, 
We could sit down and yawn, 
Thrust a gaze upon the rubble, 
And many a popped bubble. 
This gargantious mess 
Would leave us depressed 
And the ughlies would begin 
We'd just have to do it a^ain. 



J. D. Guse 

Flowing Rivers 

Flox^ing Rivers 

from factories defecated 
waste. 
Bring ray thoughts to 

yesterday. 
Swimming, 
Playing, 
Fishing, 
for that great unknown 

hope , 
from clear blue depths that have now 

disappeared, 

from f acto&es "defecated' 1 
xraste, 

in 
Flowing Rix*ers. 



~2V 



: T arsha Kline 



The Lodge (cont'd) 



The Lodge 

Rachel swung around quickly, her 
long blonde hair flying in all direc- 
tions. Her face was fixed in a ques- 
tioning expression. In an instant she 
surveyed the contents of the tiny room. 

An old, dust-laden pine bureau 
stood against the east wall. The porce- 
lain knobs were missing on both the top 
and bottom drawers. The third drawer 
fit in a rather cock-eyed manner, so 
that even when the drawer was closed, 
it wasn't. The blue-striped wallpaper 
behind the bureau had long since faded 
to a dull gray sameness. High above 
the bureau, cobwebs hung conspicuously 
from each corner of the room. The once 
white ceiling was now a dirty yellow. 
To the right of the bureau, Rachel 
caught a glimpse of an untouched brass 
bed. 

The quilt that covered the sagging 
mattress was the work of an artist. 
Each swatch had been tediously stitched 
to form a beautiful coverlet. Years 
had passed now, since the quilt had be- 
en placed upon this bed, but its beauty 
aroused in Rachel an unsettling sense 
of familiarity. 

Rachel x^as not sure why she was 
here in this musty old room, nor was 
she sure just what brought her here to- 
day. 

Earlier, that sunny June morning 
in 1978, Rachel had suggested to Brad 
that they drive around the lake just 
one last time before they packed up their 
camping gear and headed back to city 
life. 

As they approached a heavily wood- 
ed area to the north of the lake, Rachel' 
eye was drawn toward a sandy overgrown 
trail that once may have been traveled 
by horses or more recently, perhaps, an 
occasional car. 

"Look, Brad - an old road. Let's 
explore a little! The jeep will make 
it." 

"Aw, c'mon, Rachel. It looks ra- 
ther forbidding. Besides, we don't 
have a lot of gas." 

"Brad, please. Just a little way. 
Then we'll head back," Rachel pleaded. 

"Alright. Let's make it quick 
then. " 

Brad turned the jeep onto the old 
road. The vehicle jolted along at a 
snails pace through the x^eeds, bouncing 
over buried rocks and branches. They 
wound around until the woods stretched 
out on all sides of them. Tree branches 
seemed to be closing in on them as 
Brad's nervousness became apparent. 

"Now look, Rachel. This is getting 
a bit ridiculous. How can we even turn 
the jeep around? We can't back out ei- 
ther. We must be nearly a mile, from the 
main road, " Brad snapped anxiously. 

"Brad, where' s your sense of adven- 
ture, anyway? I have a feeling we'll 
come to an opening soon* lot's go just 
a little farther. " 

-28- 



The trees cleared as they rounded 
the next curve, revealing a mammoth old' 
structure. 

"Look Bradt A lodge. We've fouad 
a lodge ! " 

Brad brought the jeep to a halt in 
an area where the weeds didn't quite 
reach the running board. Before the 
jeep had actually stopped, Rachel leap- 
ed out and ran toward the forbidding 
old lodge. 

"Rachel, get back here. "There in 
the world are you going?" 

But, Rachel disappeared through a 
large old entryway. 

Brad jumped from the jeep and ran 
toward the lodge. As he entered the 
doorway, he stepped into a dark dusty 
foyer with an ancient x^inding stairxray. 
Just ahead, he noticed a large lobby 
still furnished with its original fur- 
niture, which was now very antique. 
Several other rooms were arranged a- 
round the lobby. A formal dining room 
lay off to the side. Next to the din- 
ing room, Brad noted a great old lib- 
rary xtfith thousands of books lining ev- 
ery inch of all four walls. 

Rachel was nox^here to be found. 
Brad called but there was no answer, 
other than his oxm voice as it echoed 
back around the lobby. He x^andered 
around aimlessly before deciding to 
climb the staircase. Each stair creaked 
loudly under his steps. The eeriness 
should have been enough to turn any man 
away . 

Brad wondered why Rachel had not 
been afraid. What - if anything - could 
have drax-jn her into this place? She 
hadn't even waited for him. She had 
s disappeared so quickly; it was almost 
as if she knew just where she x^as going. 

At the top of the stairs several 
hallways stretched out like road maps 
before him. The hallway to the East 
seemed to have a window near the end, 
as some source of light was detectable. 

Brad walked quickly now, calling 
as he passed each closed door. After 
trying the knobs on the first few doors, 
Brad realized that they were all locked. 

He picked up his pace, until he 
broke into a run. The hallway was groxtf- 
ing a little brighter now. Hox^ever, the 
source of light appeared to be coming 
from a room rather than a window. Brad 
stopped dead in his tracks as he reached 
the end of the hall. A door xras opened 
and the sun that shone through the win- 
dow of the tiny room overflowed into the 
hall. 

Rachel xjas sitting on an old brass 
bed gently fingering a beautiful quilt. 
Her eyes xrare fixed upon the stitching 
in the quilt. The expression on her 
face was one of utter tranquility. 

"Rachel, \[y God, why did you run 
off on me? I was so xrorried about you." 

Rachel's expression didn't change. 
She did not respond to Brad's presence. 

"Rachel. T /hat are you doing here?" 
Brad pleaded desperately searching- for 



The Lodge (cont'd) 



'arge Peterson 



some explanation. 

Rachel did not answer. Ten years 
of another life-time were flashing 
through her mind like dreams. Sud- 
denly, she knew why she was here. The 
surroundings were painfully familiar 
now. Her father had owned this lodge 
before he died in 1861. Rachel was ten 
years old then. She remembered how she 
had begged and pleaded with her mother 
to keep the lodge open. She loved it 
here. She loved the freedom, the se- 
clusion and the quiet privacy that the 
lodge offered. She loved the friendly 
people who were regular visitors. She 
loved the birds, the wild animals, the 
flowers and the wind in the trees. She 
loved the various activities that life 
at the lodge offered. 

Despite her pleadings, the lodge 
was boarded up and she was never al- 
lowed to return. Rachel, her mother 
and her grandmother were whisked off to 
the city to live with Aunt Sarah and 
Uncle Ben. Rachel developed pneumonia 
and died of complications the following 
itfinter . 

Wow, remembering her dying wish, 
Rachel knew she would someday return to 
the lodge. 

***** 

Judy Belfield 



Thoughts of Freedom From the Kitchen 



You sit in the kitchen 

and your fingers are itchin 1 

To do something new. 

You're feeling so blue 

For a clean house is nice 

And so is cooked rice 

But the effort is lost 

With one careless toss 

Of this thing and that, 

A lunch box and a hat, 

Papers, popcorn and rocks 

Soon up to your socks. 

I wish I could sing 

vJith a happy ring. 

I'd sing in the rain 

And eat sugar cane, 

Hop up a big tree 

and buzz with a bee. 

I'd siting from a limb 

'Till the light had gone dim. 

When your slicing the Bree 

You don't feel free. 

+ sf; % $ :>}: 



I'm Gatchin the First Bus Outta Here 

I'm catchin the first bus outta here 

and headin for the stars. 
Now, I don't knoxir 

if Greyhound goes there; 

if it's a regular route 
or a special run 
that's gotta be arranged, 
but I'm goin just the same 

and I don't x^ant no company. 
I'll call em on the telephone 

and say I want the Skyline Tour — 

no chauffeur — 
I'll drive myself, thank you. 
I'll be there 

at ten of six 
with my bags crammed full 
of pretzel sticks 
and cigarettes 

and itfhatever booze I'll need 
for the next few years 
Cause I'm gettin outta here 
while the gettin 's good 
and the stars still shine. 
I ain't twenty-nine 

no more: 

It's gettin late 
and I can't handle 
this mad, mad, mad, mad, mad — 
well, you know. 
So au revoir, so long, good-bye; 

The time to leave is drawing nigh — 
neigh, nay, ni-nee-no, 

hi-ho 
time to go — 

and please forg&b to write. 



Maureen Whitmer 



Joy Ride (cont'd) 



Joy Ride 

Millions of light-years away in a 
galaxy knoxim on earth as KGC 5128 
school xtfas in session on the planet 
Gelt for boys entering the ranks of 
Taul Ceti Legionnaires. The school was 
a vigorous six year training camp to 
teach the disciplined xrays of the Taul 
Ceti. 

The boys in this particular class, 
fifteen of them in all, were starting 
their days training in Taul Ceti medi- 
tation rituals to open their minds to 
accommodate higher and higher levels of 
learning. Each boy was sitting on the 
open grounds with their eyes closed 
tilted upward to the sky, while an old 
Taul Ceti teacher walked among their 
rows carefully checking vital signs to 
be sure each boy was fully responding. 

The old teacher was of the Eister- 
ion race, founders of Taul Ceti. They 
were a proud race dating back billions 
of years, possibly as far back as time 
itself. The old Eisterion looked 
proudly at his pupils. He had much to 
be proud of. Thirteen of them were al- 
so Elsterions characterized by a bluish 
pallor of the skin and yellowish al- 
mond eyes. Taul Ceti welcomed all 
peaceful races and the teacher was hap- 
py to have a Carean and an Insetus amid 
their numbers. 

The teacher eyed the Carean and 
the shy Insetus boys who were becoming 
close friends. 

"Things like that happen," he 
thought. "Two races so different, so 
all alone, yet see hoitf they attract to 
each other like magnets." 

He looked at Joal the Carean and 
thought, "We are lucky to have one of 
his kind. They are so bold, intelli- 
gent, daring, and golden like a fabled 
god. " 

Careans were one of the most hand- 
some creatures in the galaxy, not only 
because of their pleasing looks but be- 
cause of an aura of goodness that glow- 
ed from them. 

A smile spread across the teacher's 
lips as his eyes moved to Palan, the 
little Insetus with big green eyes, 
skin so -white it seemed translucent, 
hair fine and transparent, and little 
antennae peering out from behind either 
ear. 

"How his race understands nature 
and respects life," the teacher thought. 
"He seems so young and small, but they 
have assured me he was ready to start 
the training. He's lucky to find a 
friend like Joal." 

The teacher's thoughts returned to 
the class and with one sharp clap of 
his hands the meditation was broken. 
The boys rose brushing dust from their 
robes recalling their senses in the 
mid-day air. The class was over. The 
boys began to disperse except for two, 
Joal and Palan. The old Eisterion no- 
ticed thew standing nnd walked uo to 



them glad he had the opportunity to see 
them alone. 

"I suppose you two have mastered 
the art of Ceti meditation," he said 
itfith an air of humor in his voice. 
Joal looked up to him smiling 
while the Insetus seemed somewhat dis- 
tressed. 

"What is it Palan?" he asked no- 
ticing the boys distress. 

"I was wondering.. . I was wondering 
when we change barracks will I be able 
to keep Munif?" He held llunif, a lit- 
tle beast looking like a dragon with 
wings, in his hands. 

"Of course, you can keep him. 
Where else xreuld poor llunif go on this 
planet," the Eisterion answered, but 
then added, "But to keep him in your 
room you are going to need an agreement 
slip from your new roommate." He turn- 
ed to Joal. ■ "Joal, do you x/ant to sign 
it now or later?" 

The boys eyes met in a happy but 
surprised gaze. 

"I'll sign it noxir, Sir. . Palan, 
we'll be rooming together, just you, 
llunif, and me!" Joal said excitedly 
while putting an arm around his com- 
panions shoulders. 

In the ■ days that f olloxred the boys 
moved from their open bay barracks to 
their new rooms for they xrere now Ceti 
Guardsmen. They would soon be working 
right along side; a Taul Ceti Legion- 
naire learning his ways while serving 
him dutifully. 

Joal and Palan had been attracted 
to each other from the start and their 
friendship grew in the days that fol- 
lowed. 

When they returned to their room 
at night they would talk of the con- 
quests their Legionnaire's had perform- 
ed in far ax^ay galaxies. They xreuld 
talk of the dreams they had for their 
own lives. They made a vox/ to each 
other never to be separated no matter 
■ where the Taul Ceti xreuld take them. 

On Earth a simple but x-rtiole heart- 
ed ceremony was taking place in the 
mid-Atlantic Ocean. Assorted digni- 
taries along xtfith some press had ga- 
thered to xd.tness the sinking of many 
military ships heavily laden with wea- 
pons, most of which xrere the menacing 
nuclear bombs. It xras a ceremony filled 
with much rejoicing as each ship went 
down sloxtfly at first then nose-diving 
and sinking quickly into the ocean 
depths.- There were acts such as this 
going on everywhere. Military bases 
xrere being torn doxro, armories xrere be- 
ing emptied, and military air and gro- 
und equipment was being dismantled. All 
of this was being sponsored by the DAWS 
Treaty. There xrould be world peace. 

• Joal was standing duty that day as 
he did every fifth day of the month. 
This particular day he xras standing duty 
at the Taul Ceti Fleet Station having 
been assigned some simple tasks at the 
docks. One of which xras to get a Stel- 



-30- 



Joy Ride (cont'd) 



Joy Ride (cont'd) 



ler Cruiser ready for a patrol. He was 
checking out some of the controls when 
Palan joined him. 

"Hello Joal, pulling the duty 
again?" Palan asked. 

"Yes. I've got to get this crui- 
ser ready for a patrol by mid-morning," 
Joal stated while eyeing Iiunif , the 
little beast crawling about his com- 
panion's shoulders. "I'm almost fi- 
nished... I've just got to take her out 
for a navagational check. Do you want 
to come along?" 

"Yes... that is if it's all right? 
You won't get in any kind of trouble 
for having me aboard, will you?" Palan 
asked a little uncertainly. 

"Not unless you say I kidnapped 
you!" he teased. "Come on Palan, this 
will be fun." 

"All right, if you're sure it's 
OK." 

"I'm sure," he said while helping 
Palan aboard the vessel. "Besides," 
he added, "this ship is much easier to 
operate with a second controlman. " 

The boys climbed into the ships 
seating themselves on either side of 
the control center. They proceeded to 
get the cruiser underway. Joal start- 
ed the ship with an incredibly loud 
hissing, roaring, rumbling sound. 

Palan 's eyes widened and he said 
to his little pet, "This is going to 
be some ride Kunif, you better hang on 
tight." 

Iiunif made a kind of chirping so- 
und as if able to understand him. 

"What do you mean," Joal stated. 
"I ifas one of the best in flight train- 
ing. " 

With those words the cruiser de- 
parted at an astonishing speed. Joal, 
however, was able to get the vessel 
under control after a few seconds. 

"There now that wasn't so bad," 
Joal said i^hile glancing over at Palan 
xiho looked a bit ill. "You all right?" 
Joal asked. 

"As soon as my heart returns to 
my chest. I think it's somexihere on 
the ceiling, " Palan said half teasing 
half serious, while Iiunif made strange 
high chirping sounds as if scolding 
Joal. 

The two boys broke into laughter 
and Joal asked in the most respectable 
voice he could muster, "Where would 
you like to be escorted to, Sir?" 

Palan, amused, deepened his voice 
as best he could and answered; "Once 
around the galaxy should be sufficient, 
guardsman. " 

"Here we go," Joal said as he ac- 
celerated the ship nearer to top speeds. 

"Do you have on your deflector 
shields? I don't want to collide with 
any stars. " 

"Of course they're on. You wo- 
uldn't believe how fast this cruiser 
can go. 1/atch this," Joal said x>rhile 

pnsjiin.'T t)m nhxp fo <m/<vk factor .•:/v-o«i i . ,* 



"Joal aren't we supposed to be 
checking the navigation system?" 

"Gosh, I almost forgot... hey the 
navigator's not working!" Joal said 
while slowing the ship down suddenly to 
a Celt-snails pace. 

"You're lucky to have brought me 
along," Palan said while rising from his 
seat knowing what must be done next. 
"I'll get us back. I know this galaxy 
like the back of my hand." 

He placed some maps out on a coun- 
ter and turned the surveying screen to 
estimate where they were. He quietly 
viewed the maps while Joal observed 
from a distance. 

"Lords of Celt!" Palan finally ex- 
claimed. "I can't believe how far out 
we are . " 

Iiunif bristled at his yell, while 
Joal moved closer for a better look. 

"We are here," Palan said itfhile 
pointing to a spiral galaxy no more 
than fifteen million light-years from 
their own. "I'll manually reset the 
navigational system , " he said while pro- 
ceeding to do the task. 

"I really had this ship moving, " 
Joal said then added, "Say, I've never 
been out this way before. What would 
you think of a little exploring?" 

"Well, maybe just for a little 
while," Palan answered, his curiosity 
getting the best of him. 

"This is fun," Joal remarked while 
adjusting the surveying screen to ob- 
serve anything that might be worth ex- 
ploring. 

"Now here is something interesting, " 
Joal said spotting a solar system in 
the huge screen. 

"I'll adjust the soom and pull it 
into focus. Will you look at that gi- 
ant gasseous planet," Joal said labile 
further adjusting the screen. 

"There's another one and it's red 
...there's seven... nine planets and one 
is blue like Celt." 

"It is," Palan remarked. "Only it 
looks almost completely covered with 
itfater and there seems to be some kind 
of strange haze around it... or is it 
glowing from it? I wonder what that 
could be?" 

"I don't know. ..Say that planet 
would make a perfect target. Do you 
think you could drive an energy bolt 
between those land masses on it?" Joal 
asked enticingly. 

"I'm sure I could, but there's 
probably some type of life on it and I 
wouldn't itfant to hurt anything." 

"Since when did an energy bolt 
ever hurt anything living?" 

"That's not what I meant, Joal, I 
mean hurting by changing the environ- 
ment. " 

"I'll bet you're just not sure of 
your aim, " Joal said with a hint of sar- 
casm in his voice. 

Palan 's eyes met his as he said, 
'We'll Fee who has the be iter aim, You 
fire first- " 



-31- 



Joy Ride (cont'd) 

"All right," said Joal while he 
adjusted the blue planet to the center 
of the screen. 

He aimed firing two energy bolts 
into the Pacific Ocean. The bolts hit 
near the coast of California causing a 
most amazing effect on the Earth, but 
impossible to notice from the ship. 

Jhen the bolts hit the coast as if 
by some magical force it lit up like a 
Christmas tree even though power had 
been out since the war. Boats in the 
harbors suddenly started, dormant 
lighthouses suddenly went frantic send- 
ing their beams everywhere, and bridges 
began functioning for no apparent rea- 
son. Electrical appliances began 
working without any electricity. Cof- 
fee pots were percolating, toasters 
were toasting, blenders were blending, 
and microwave ovens were cooking. 

"Not a very good hit," Palan com- 
mented xtfhile taking aim on the center 
of the Atlantic Ocean. 

The energy bolt hit the water 
spreading an energy field that affected 
everything in reach including a ship 
load of nuclear bombs lying on a fault 
of the Atlantic floor. 

The effects were catastrophic. 
The boys watched in awe as the Earth 
cracked open like an egg, spilling its 
contents into the atmosphere, while 
losing its gravity, letting go of its 
moon, and casting its oceans and seas 
into space. After what seemed to be 
hours the only remnant left x^as an 
asteroid belt made up of Earthen rock 
and ice revolving where the Earth had 
once been. 

... There would nev.er again be war on 
Earth. 

* * * * * 

Ruth Reynolds 

She Calls Collect 

She sings demands a thousand miles 

such hollow notes. 

Shrill. 

ears bust from listening 

Just answer her questions 

No need to talk. 

Fat flabby folds 

hang from her arms. 

Veins burst open her legs 

Ankles, blown baloons - 

toes torn crooked. 

Her breasts over belly over belly. 

just so much skin. 

those beady eyes 

and frizzy yellow hair. 

She usually 
feels lousy, 
body always ailing 
but mind not slipping 
thoughts cascade like 
water down a damn. 
Cooks for days 
lobster to quiche 
to inatzoh, to pie. 



She Calls Collect (cont'd) 

A good jew. 

On holidays. 

She tires 

rests. 

Talks of those she once knew 

Introduces herself to those 

she doesn't. 

most friends have died 

before her. 

A friend of Freidan 

A giver to NOW. 

Campaigned for Kennedy. 

Supported Grasso. 

writes her senator daily 

the N.Y. Times her only lover, 

front to back each day. 

her vocabulary extensive, 

her vision afar. 

Her family she treasures 

the children 

their youth. 

her advice 

flows freely, 

She cares 

She does 

She loves. 

***** 

Judy Belfield 

Strawberry Season 

A black El Camino passed through 
an opening in a high limestone wall 
just as the sun was beginning to peek 
over the horizon. The shiny mini-truck 
threaded its way around a crazily wind- 
ing road, arriving at a long black- 
topped snake that stretched through 
miles of flat, black earth. After a 
few miles, that flat earth became 
crowded with rows and rows of tall 
corn. 

The occupants of the vehicle were 
a gray-haired man in coveralls with a 
few too many inches girth, and a thin, 
wiry, sleepy-eyed younger man of about 
thirty- five. They traveled in silence 
for quite a while and then the older 
began to speak, almost as if his son 
weren't there. 

"Comes a time in a man's life 
when he's got to get out from under all 
those dreams he had when he was a young 
man. Face up to the real world. Hake 
your peace with it and try to get along 
as best you can. " 

The younger man didn't answer 
right away. He wondered what motivated 
the old man to say what he had. Why 
was he, all of a sudden, talking about 
dreams? What did dreams have to do with 
anything? 

It soon became clear to the son 
what his father was doing. The old \naft 
was trying to shake him loose again. 
He was nervous, didn't know what to sar 
to his son, and so, started in on his 
worn-out monologue regarding the merits 
of down-to-earth thinking. It disturbed 
the young man, as it always did, being 
v7 tb& dafenstim this way, but he 



Strawberry Season (cont'd) 



Strawberry Season (cont'd) 



was determined not to get angry. He 
was determined not to get into the same 
old argument that never got anywhere. 

"Didn't you have any dreams x^hen 
you were young, Dad?" 

"Sure. Had lots of 'em . . . lots 
of 'em. I don't think about 'em much 
any mores. Don't do no good. They 
ain't time fer 'em. Got to go about 
livin'. Aint no time for dreams." 

"Why xTOuld anyone want to give up 
his dreams just because there's no time 
for them? A man's got to make time. 
Make time for them to happen too. 
There's got to be something to hope for, 
else, what's the point of living?" 

"Well, I guess that comes a not 
ever havin ' ta want for anythin ' . They 
that's never had to break their backs 
to feed a housefulla kids just caint 
'preciate what it means to haft a give 
up somma them dreams. Ya gotta sacri- 
fice in this world, son . . . give up 
somethin 1 ya wants, and prob'ly'll 
never get anyways, for somethin' ya 
gotta have ta live. 

"Lookit me. Worked at the John 
Deere all these years just like my Dad 
before me. la think that's what I 
wanted when I x*as young? Nossir. I 'da 
liked to finish high school, but I had 
to help at home. Had to go to work . 

it 

* . 

"Here it comes," thought the son. 
Now he was going to have to listen to 
it again. 

"Turn on the radio, will you Dad?" 
Clarence Eversmann reached doxra to 
the dial and turned it clockwise. His 
sixty-five-year-old hands were sprinkl- 
ed with liver spots and hardened with 
callouses. He had wanted to talk more 
to his youngest son, but, evidently, 



to buy them. What good w&re they? Cla- 
rence couldn't understand why the kid 
hadn't given up in all this time — he 
was thirty-five years old! He ought to 
have come out of that cloud he'd fluffed 
up for himself in the air. What was 
wrong with kids today? Clarence knew 
the answer to that question, of course 
— kids today just had things too easy. 
They never had to worry about where the 
next meal was coming from. When Clarence 
was young, he'd never had time for what 
these fancy pants psychiatrists called 
"psychoses." He'd been too busy helping 
to support his dad's family and then 
gone on to support his own. That's what 
these kids needed — to get their hands 
dirty, some good hard work; keep their 
idle minds busy. 

Billy drew a deep puff on his ciga- 
rette and watohed the. smoke swirl inside 
the car. He wondered why Dad had to 
start harping at him today. Couldn't he 
see that it never got anywhere? Wasn't 
Dad ever going to learn that this oft- 
repeated conversation was a stalemate 
from the beginning? No, Billy thought, 
Dad would never change. He'd just keep 
ploiiring the same rut year after year. It 
was a shame, somehow. Billy wondered if, 
when Dad died, he'd go out of this world 
happy, if that narrow world of his were 
really enough for him. 

"Dad ..." 

"Yeah?" 

"Dad . . . are you happy?" 

"Well noxtf, what kind of a fool ques- 
tion is that? 'Course I'm happy." 

"Why are you happy, Dad?" 

"Well now, why shoudn' I be? I 
worked hard all my life. I raised five 
healthy kids, gave 'em all the best I 
could. Had the sweetest little woman on 



Billy didn't want to talk. Billy never earth for a wife, God rest her soul, and 



wanted to talk to him about anything 
important. Whenever Clarence tried to 
talk about the only sensible way to 
live in this world, Billy just changed 
the subject or walked away or created 
a diversion of some kind. Today it was 
the radio. It was always something, 



now I'm retired, I got a nice little gar- 
den to take care of, a roof over my head, 
no bills ta speak of. I don't want for 
nothin'. I pret' near do everythin' I 
want to. '/hat more could' anybody ask?" 

That was it. The sum- total of Cla- 
rence Eversmann 's life: What more could 



They just never could talk. They lived anybody ask! Take what you worked for 



in two unrelated worlds. 

"How could it have happened?" 
Clarence asked himself. "This son who 
came from somewhere inside his body. 
He might just as well have been a 
stranger. " 

He'd always been a stranger. 
Billy was never like his brothers and 
sisters. Clarence knexf he was dif- 
ferent right off the bat. The kid 
didn't mix well; he didn't talk much; 
stayed so much to himself daydreaming 
his life away. And then, those schools 
put all those high-falutin' ideas into 
his head. The kid wanted to write. 



and be happy with what you got. Was that 
the key to life? It troubled Billy. He 
thought that he'd been cheated out of his 
Dad's simplicity. It bothered him greatl r 
that Dad could be content xri.th what seemed 
like so little to him. Billy x-zanted des- 
perately to be content. He wondered — 
xrorried — that he never would be. Hox* 
did Dad learn to be happy? How did any- 
one? 

"Billy, did I ever tell you about thf 
time I lost a whole paycheck playin' poke: ] 

"Yes, Dad, many times." 

"Well, ya see, there was this time 
xjhen Jacob Ettinger started ta bra^oin 1 jxJ 



Write! Imagine! And he didn't want could beat us all outta our pants an' t,-_ 

to write for a newspaper and make some figgered we'd jus' show him a thiiig or 

money with his writing. No — he two ..." 

wanted to write books, had already Billy's mind drifted. His eyes em- 

x^ritten three or four, and those sat, braced the cool, pink, morning sky. It 

h,\no i\*ll ,^<'.hi tip- ,?fj.--£. M>£v>4j r '" fxzrt-t&d. jawxld ?v> Ih~>1 toihiy mid f.he 

-33- 



tii&rnxngs were 



Strawberry Season (cont'd) 

fresh, untouched as yet by the cruel 
heat of summer afternoon sun. There 
weren't many cars on the road and that 
was nice. They had the whole world to 
themselves. The corn in the fields 
itfas tall and green and wet with dew. 
The moist, black earth teemed with un- 
seen activity. That black Iowa earth, 
those green rows of August corn, that 
shimmery pink and blue sky! It was a 
shame they had to get anywhere. Billy 
thought he might have been able to ride 
in the car forever. But they x-rere go- 
ing home. 

Billy thought about the straw- 
berries that Dad used to grow behind 
the house and how Mike and Dorothy and 
Alice and Virginia and he would race to 
that patch after a rain s noire r and 
pluck the big, wet berries off the 
vines and plop them into their mouths 
as though the strawberries would never 
end. He wished he could do it right 
now. His mouth watered as he imagined 
himself biting into one. He remembered 
the giggles of all the kids out back 
behind the house, their fingers stain- 
ed red, their mouths dripping. And 
then they'd argue about who had eaten 
the most. The fights and the giggles 
were constant. He missed them — the 
giggles, the fights, the kids, the 
strawberries. Host of all, he missed 
being a child. Hissed it sorely. He 
ached now with an impossible pain. 

"Dad . . . Dad . . .,".he pleaded 
silently. "Where did it all go? How 
did it get away so quickly? What hap- 
pened to all your brown hair? And the 
tonic you used to put on it? What hap- 
pened to the years? 

"You never think about them, do 
you? You go back only to relive pieces 
of time that you've repeated so many 
times, they no longer have any meaning 
to you. Remember the strawberries, 
Dad? 

"Remember the August afternoon I 
tried out Dorothy's rollerskates and 
sprained my arm? Remember the rain 
that sprayed the yard that day? I can • 
still smell it in the grass. I can 
still feel the sunshine drying my hair. 
I remember wearing Hike's jeans to play 
baseball with you in the empty field — 
I had to roll them up what seemed like 
a dozen times. Mike was so tall then. 
He had such a big Adam's apple in his 
scrawny neck. Would you have watched 
him any more carefully then, if you 
had known that the man he was growing 
into would be the same one itfho was 
later to crash ehad-on into that semi? 
Would you have studied him more closely? 
Memorized him, maybe? 

"Do you remember any of the lit- 
tle things, Dad? Like Mom not drying 
any of the dishes because. Alice had 
told her that dishtowels were full of 
germs — she'd learned that in a bio- 
logy class. 

"God, Dad, what happened to Mom? 
What happened to the brawn axaFcrds -^rid 
jihite anklets thnt were Mom? What 



Strawberry Season (cont'd) 

happened to the brown strands of hair 
flecked with flour that was Mom? Mom, 
whose skinny, freckled arms were for- 
ever in- long sleeves that were rolled 
up. Mom, whose calf-length skirts 
were always covered by an apron. What 
happened to Mom? She passed in and 
out of our lives so quickly that we 
hardly had time to know her . . . 
Mom ..." 

Clarence had finished the Jacob 
Ettinger story and looked over at his 
son. Billy's mind was a million miles 
away. His face was contorted and his 
cheeks were wet with tears. 

"Poor Billy," Clarence thought. 
"Poor Billy. We're never gonna git 
together. We're never gonna make it." 
Clarence's heart ached for him. He 
wondered where all the pain came from 
that tortured his boy. This kid was 
brought up just like all the rest. 
None of the others had problems. Cla- 
rence would never understand Billy. 
He'd tried, God knows, he'd tried, 
but Clarence figured maybe he just 
wasn't smart enough to understand, 
never would be. 

"Whatsamatter, son?" 

"I ... I ... I wanna go back." 

"Back to the hospital?" 

"Yeah . . . I . . . can't go home 
today. I can't. I'm sorry Dad, I'm 
sorry. " 

"It's okay, boy. It's okay." 
Clarence leaned across the seat and 
put his arms around his son. He 
gave him a quick, tight hug and then 
straightened himself back into the 
driver's seat. It was all he could 
think of to do. 

"I'm sorry Dad. " 

"It's okay. One a these weeks 
we're gonna make it all the way home. 
An' when we do . . . well, when we do, 
why we're jus' gonna stay there for- 
ever. " 

"Dad?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Could we stop somewhere and get 
some strawberries on the way?" 

* >}c * 5^ sjs 

Pat Bohler 

Nancy Wife of John II 

I hear her ghostly xtfhisper 
moan from her sodded cell. 

It comes noxtf louder, crisper 
she learned her lesson well. 

"He took it all my daughter 
and isn't it a shame. 

He led me to the alter 
he even stole my name. " 
***** 



Jason Coleman 

Yoga 

Exuberance comes easy standing on your head. 

The simple pleasure calms the senses; 

numbs the muscles as if you were dead. 

In the subconscious trance nerve tensions release; 

heartbeat slows down approaching utter peace. 

Hallucinations float in the retina of your eye. 
The universe expands and then contracts; 
until all knoxtfledge of the cosmos makes you high. 
An aura mystically protects the exhilarating soul; 
Cross your legs, say a chant, and fulfill the goal. 

Rowena Youngblood 

This Child Heed Her Father 

This child need her father, oh yes she do, 

after all the hell and war she's been through, 

when a father was needed it was nobody there, 

nobody to comfort her, and nobody to care, 

when she i^as doxtfn and full of doubt, 

she reach out for her dad but he was out , 

He's still out and he's gone forever, 

one day with God help we'll be together, 

she has "hope" you see, 

and Right Now she needs her daddy. 

She needs so bad there at home, 
right there with her where he belong, 
When she talks to him on the phone, 
she starts to cry, 

And I know he's beginning to wonder why, 
The reason for that is she miss him so much, 
and the phone call is the only thing to keep 
them in touch, 

Yes, she know things aren't the same, unless 

he comes back there's more to change, 

I would talk like to talk about Horn, 

But I not gonna bother. 

Because this child needs her father. 

* >|: >j; * sfc 

Colleen J Moloney 

What To Do? 

What do you do when you're empty?... 

Jackson has stolen my heart- 
without really knowing. 

Pat is pulling on my arm... 
pick you up at 5:°0 ° r 5: 30? 

Chrissy steals all ray hugs... 
which she desperately needs. 

What am I when everyone has a part of me?... 

just a lost lonely soul 
I need to be a whole- I need all my parts. 

Giving is a wonderful pleasure- but if you 
receive nothing in return you are drained-empty. 
and . . . 

What do you do when you're empty? 



-35- 



■■ 



Judy Belfield 
It's Laundry- Roundup Time 



It's laundry- roundup time 
at the Bar B Corral: 

gotta get the clothes washed 
for another week of dirt, 
so I can wash era again 
and again 
and — 

well, you get the picture. 
Gotta ferret out the herd — 

- these .animals^.hide. in. strange, places: . 
Socks under the couch, 
-• • ■• under a chair,, 

in a crack in the wall; 
Jeans in the john 
under the hair 
that was trimmed 
from somebody's head 
last Tuesday — 

et cetera. 
Gotta get em together somehow 
and brand em 
with "NSW 1 ' and "IMPROVED" 

Brand X, 
which may or may not be the high-oriced spread 
"X, the Unknown!" 
Gotta suds these duds 

til they're red, white or green, 
fresh and clean, 
ready to wear and tear. 
Get out the grease; 
get out the mud; 
get out the stains; 
but first — 

I gotta get out the lead. 



Cheryl Koniuszy 

Z's Please 

Just about once a month Dear Ab- 
by runs a letter in her column from a 
half-crazed wife complaining that her 
other-wise cherished husband is snor- 
' ing her to death. For me that is a 
blessed sound, a sure indication that 
my beloved hubby is not going to be 
up to his nocturnal antics. 

Frankly, I wonder at times just 
how a nice girl like me got stuck id.th 
a man whose brain works a Zk hour 
shift. At night the most work my 
mind does is to dream about ardent 
lovers, two weeks vacation with maid 
service and no kids, or finding Alad- 
din ' s lamp with the lid and three 
wishes still intact. 

Ily husband, on the other hand, 
becomes a sleep walking and talking 
Steve Martin; a solver of world prob- 
:. lems like Kissinger; even an adven- 
turous pirate, or in general, a stran- 
ger in the darkness of our bedroom. 

Over the years the stranger has 
not awakened me so often and I have 
learned a few things about his nature. 
One thing for sure, he is completely 
unaware of what he does in his sleep. 
In fact he thought I was crazy til 
his mother verified that indeed it 
was a problem even in bin ear-Ty tsbxld- 
brw?uL The second thing is; ho only 

-3d- 



Z's Please (cont'd) 

does it when he is worried or upset 
about something. 

One night, not long after our 
honeymoon, I gently slid into bed with 
my sleeping husband only to be startled 
as he reached out for me and pulled me 
gently into his arms. 

"Do you love me?" I asked quite 
sure he was still awake and had been 
waiting for me. 

"Sure do." was his quiet reply. 
"How come?" the anxious new bride 
asked, hoping for a dissertation of her 
good virtues. 

"Because somebody has to." was his 
reply as he patted my head like a pup- 
py dog and began to snore. 

A few nights later I was rudely 
awakened by a jabbing finger in the 
middle of my back. 

"This is a stick-up. " 
"Huh?" I said, not sure if I was 
dreaming. 

"This is a stick-up. " he repeated. 
"Give me all your money. " 

"You have all my money. " 
"I do?" he said quite seriously. 
"Ok. " . 

And with that he laid the danger- 
ous gua. finger on his chest and began 
the deep snore T was beginning to wel- 
come at night. 

Usually I am the sole witness to 
^ ?».>.-.- &ch*&irbixr<&s t ^tri: once while visit- 



Z's Please (cont'd) 



ing my in-laws my husband decided to 
give a speech around three a.m. There 
he stood in T-shirt and jocky shorts in 
the hall giving the most elegant rags 
to riches speech. The speech lasted 
all of thirty minutes at which he ended 
with a bow and several thank-yous to 
the audience (Horn, Dad, and I). He even 
went back to bed all on his ox-jn, still 
nodding his head and smiling to the 
crowd (?). 

I have tried just about everything 
the experts suggest to cure his night 
time adventures. Even waking him up 
doesn't work because he just starts all 
over later on that night. Getting to 
the root of the problem isn't easy, be- 
cause even the most minor problems, me 
forgetting to pick up his favorite shirt 
at the laundry, or a call from his not 
so favorite mother-in-law, can set him 
off. 

Today, he came home and announced 
over dinner that he was having prob- 
lems at xrork.. . .something that he just 
had to work out on his own. I announced 
that my daughter and I had been invited 
out of town for the next two nights to 
visit my sister. Give me a man that 
snores any night! 



Janet Valek 

Small Advice 

If you don't have anything to say 

besides conceited talk, 

pie in the sky talk, 

cocky talk, 

boorish talk, „ * 

play with my head talk, 

then don't say anything. 

>Jc >£ if; sjs >Jc 



Jennifer Hunt 

Prisoner 

I am a convict 

locked inside myself forever. 

My mind says one thing 

my heart always another. 

I would like to be beautiful and maybe even a star, 

But I cannot for I am plain and just me. 

I would like to go overseas, 

sail in oceans, fly in the sky, 

But I have not the transportation, 

for this body that binds me. 

When people see me they don't 

They see the face, the eyes, and hands that 

encase me. 

They are looking at my own jailer. 

And very few people 

will I let look in, 

let past my skin, 

to the real me. 

Yes, I am a lifer 

Locked inside myself. 



jU ;», ;t; ; t- jt. 



Judy Belfield 
Ihf vat 



My wit 
is worn and old 
and all the thoughts that brew 
along with all the feelings too, 
produce not one thing new, 
or so I'm told: 
I quit! 

>$: 5jc >Jc sj: >\i 



Judy Belfield 



Deadlock (cont'd) 



Deadlock 

Margie and I ire re having lunch to- 
gether in a restaurant one day ifhen the 
conversation turned to an evaluation of 
local bars and their respective patrons. 

"1 like to drink where people are 
real, " said Margie* 

"What is real?" I asked. 

"Well, it certainly isn't at a 
place like the Chaz Club where every- 
body tries to outdo each other with fan- •• 
cy disco clothes and phony conversations." 

"Maybe so, " I said. 

"And I hate Fred's and Ray's be- 
cause all anybody ever goes into those 
places for is a piece of ass." 

"I beg your pardon." 

"You know what I mean. Every guy 
that goes into Fred's or Ray's thinks 
every check that enters is just dying 
to jump into bed with the first hot 
prospect. " 

"I don't believe that — and I've 
been in both places millions of times." 

"Well, I never met a guy in either 
place who didn't have sex on his mind 
and that x^ras his prime motive for being 
there. " 

"C'mon now — it's like that 
EVSRYplace. I'd say sixty to eighty 
percent of all people who go to any 
bars — and I'm speaking of 'singles' — 
are looking for, if not sex, at least 
some kind of relationship." 

"Well, I'm not looking for sex. 
I'm looking for a husband. I've been 
divorced for three years nox>r and I'm 
lonely. That's why I go to Jimmy's 
Place. The people — the guys — are 
just there to drink and have a good 
time. They're not threatening." 

"You're not gonna tell me that the 
guys who go into that place are all there 
to chat and laugh and that's it. C'mon 
. . . I've been in there -- and they're 
just as horny there as they are anywhere 
else, " I said. 

"But they know me there. They know 
I'm not there for a quick screw. I feel 
safe, because the people there are just 
down-to-earth types who don't try to be 
something they're not." 

"Those down-to-earth types include 
Renegades?" 

"Sure. Renegades come in once in 
a while. But they don't bother anybody. 
They sit at one end of the bar and 
everybody else sits at the other. 
There's never any trouble. Why are you 
always picking on them anyway? Some of 
the Renegades are all-right guys." 

"Not in my book. They're criminals 
— punks who think that belonging to a 
motorcycle gang whose members assault 
the rest of the x-rorld makes them men. 
They're sickening, filthy pigs who'd 
just as soon beat you up as look at you. "" 

"You never met any. You don't 
knox;. " 



"You can't judge all of them by a 
few. " 

"Yes I can. I can think anything 
I damn well please." 

The discussion stalemated there. 
Neither of us would budge on our pre- ' 
judices, so we sat silently for a 
xtfhile and then began to talk of other 
things. 

Two weeks later my sister called 
to tell me that an ex-boyfriend of hers 
had been stabbed outside a bar by two.. 
members of the Renegades gang (or 
"club", if you will). Frank had a 
punctured kidney and wasn't expected 
to live. 

The next time Margie and I were 
together, I told her about it. She'd 
already heard the story, but since my 
sister hadxritnessed the stabbing, I 
had inside information to give. 

"Frank's a loud-mouth. He's al- 
ways bad-mouthing the Renegades. He 
should knox/ better than to say anything 
when they're around," she said. "He 
probably provoked it . " 

"I don't doubt that," I said. 
"But is that any reason he should have 
to die? What kind of a world is it 
xfhere you have to be afraid to say 
something for fear you'll be stabbed? 
Frank xrasn't carrying any x^reapon. He 
was very drunk at the time. And so — 
because he got drunk and said something, 
he's probably going to die. If that's 
the way things are, I xrant off this 
planet and I xrant off noxjj " 

Margie repeated her bit about how 
the Renegades came into Jimmy's Place 
all the time and there xfas never any 
trouble. Margie is the one xfho changed 
her story; I didn't alter it. At that 
first conversation, she had said that 
the Renegades came in "once and a xtfhile." 
Noxtf she xfas saying, "all the time." 

"People just have to learn to mind 
their own business," she said. 

"When a man is stabbed, it is 
everyone's business. to. see that the 
person or persons xtfho did the stabbing 
is/are removed from society. Killing — 
or attempting to kill — is almost 
never justified. I don't go around 
killing people who disagree x^ith me and 
I expect everyone else to give me that 
same respect. " 

"Jell, Frank didn't respect them 
when he said xfhatever it was he said to 
them. " 

"Maybe not, but xrords are a hell of 
a lot different than knives! I can't 
believe you're saying this. Those Rene- 
gades are uncivilized animals." 

"That's not very charitable, you 
knox/. " 

"Death — or near-death — adds a 



"That's right. And I don't par- 
ticularly xtfant to either. And I 
wouldn't .<~o around bx'aggijig aivMii it if 

I did." 



new dimension to charity. There's no 
excuse for taking another person's life." 

This conversation also came to a 
standstill. Margie couldn't convince me 
and I couldn't convince her. Since we 
both knew that neither of us was x^illing 
to make airy concessions on this issue, 
we progressed into an area of discussion 



Deadlock (cont'd) 



Deadlock (cont'd) 



that we knew was also a dead-end issue 
— that of capital punishment. We must 
both have felt like arguing, because we 
know how we feel about capital punish- 
ment and we also know that we'll never 
change each other's minds. I guess it 
was a needling session. She proceeded 
to say that John Gacy should be strung 
up by the balls and I have her my old 
bit about murderers needing psychiatric 
help, or at least study, to prevent, or 
try to prevent, such acts from being re- 
peated. Our discussions on the topic 
become nauseating through endless re- 
petition and no points scored ever with 
one or the other of us. 

Weeks later, Frank was in satis- 
factory condition and was expected to 
be sent home soon. I thought maybe I 
was too harsh on Jimmy's Place. I 
don't know — maybe imminent death 
colors my judgments and with the threat 
gone, felt a bit safe. I'm not sure 
what motives I had in mind when I pul- 
led up outside Jimmy's after spotting 
Kargie's car at the corner. 

It was near closing time when I 
walked in. 

For those of you who are unfami- 
liar with closing time at bars these 
days, let me digress for a moment. 
Lights flicker or bells are rung. The 
bouncers, or, as in the case of Jim- 
my's Place, the owner and bartenders 
keep shouting, ""Je gotta gol" Host 
patrons are drunk, high, or both. For 
some, it is 'panic time': Grab a guy 
or a girl in the few minutes that are 
left. There is much noise, but there 
is no music. The bands have finished 
playing or the jukeboxes have been dis- 
connected. The noise is human. People 
are laughing, yelling, talking, finish- 
ing up the last of their drinks. There 
is much moving around. There are those 
who stand outside the bars or sit on 
sidewalks. Some talk. Others are 
couples beginning what they intend to 
complete later in an apartment or in a 
car. It is a fascinating scene, really 
— all these inebriated people being 
slowly, but surely, rounded up and cor- 
ralled out. One hears protests here 



and there: "I'm going 



I'm go- 



ing, " or "I just want to finish this 
and I'll go." Bartenders, owners and 
bouncers all have the same deadpan, 
bored look borne of the tedium of end- 
less nights of emptying out their bars. 

This was the situation when I ar- 
rived at Jimmy's. Several motorcycles 
were parked near the entrance. Guys 
in sleeveless denim jackets stood in 
clusters outside the door. I saw two 
with knives stuck in their belts. The 
word, "fuckin" was very big in their 
vocabularies — it issued from prac- 
tically every mouth. It seemed to be 
sprinkled between every other word. 

An example: "Ya know Tirhat fuckin 
happened on my way fuckin here?" 

"What, man?" 

"Some fuckin ..." etc. The 

-39- 



word stuccoes the night, blends in with 
no apostrophes and no particular notice. 
I noticed. I also noticed guys reliev- 
ing themselves in bushes and at the 
sides of vans. 

I walked inside, stood at the bar 
for about a minute and decided to leave. 
Ilargie was hanging on ■ some guy I didn't 
know and I felt completely out of place 
— not being drunk at closing time can 
do that to you. 

Outside again, motorcycles were 
revving, cfisscrpssing .each dther in 
the intersection and pulling^up onto 
the sidewalk. One guy had a bottle of 
beer in his teeth as he drove away. 
This might have looked like great fun 
if the participants in the spectacle 
had been halfway decent looking, but 
they weren't. There were a lot of tat- 
tooes around me — I associate tattooes 
with Richard Speck and Perry Smith. I 
can associate tattooes with sailors too, 
but knives in belts sort of eliminate 
that. 

If I were to have let my imaginaO 
tion run a little bit farther, I could 
have envisioned fleas in the beards and 
armpits of these guys and in just the 
armpits of their girlfriends. I be- 
lieve I could even have envisioned the 
girls with beards if I'd tried. I'm 
doing it now. "Sleazy" is the word — 
no, I think it was "scum" that came to 
mind . . . very judgmental of me, I 
know. 

I think I discovered that absence 
does not always make the heart grow 
fonder and that, familiarity in "this 
case, however minimal, does breed con- 
tempt. * 

Sorry, i'argie. I hope you find a 
husband, but I'm never coming back to 
Jimmy's, and I'll worry about you, know- 
ing you're there three or four nights a 
week. But I'd rather do my drinking 
with "phonies" and "guys with one thing 
on their minds. " 



■4-' 



Laura Lauth 

The Geese Make Lines In The Sunset Sky 

The geese make lines in the sunset sky 
in the wavering strung out way they fly 
My heart longs to join their flight 
To leap up and go — to fly all night 
Until I reach some warm island, or Hexico 
with a shining red dawn. Damn! I'd go 
in twenty seconds if I had the wings 
To fly me — and there were no strings 
or reasonings to bind me home 
To culture, propriety — I can't go roam 
The- skies with geese. I'll stay 
here and sigh, again. Someday. 
***** 

Judy Belfield 

Poetry Pour le Bain 

"C'mon in 

the words are fine," 

they said itfith bathtub grins. 
I watched her splash some sonnets 

as he splattered out an epic verse. 
They sprayed the room with anapests 

and bawdy limericks too. 
They sprinkled quatrains on the floor 

until there was "poetry, poetry everywhere." 
And I stood there 

wishing I had the nerve 
to Ret my feet wet. 
"0 can't," 
I said. 

"Gotta get home 
cause my meter reader's comin 
and I haven't let him in for months." 

Jason Coleman 

Perception 

Time. 

Incredible four digit word idea. 

A millennium of segments pass in a flash, 

as a moment approaches infinity yet 

Fever quite reaches its destination; 

Ahead and beyond the void of length. 

Time. 

Expected to pierce the minds navigation. 
Suggesting a course through uncharted realms; 
Animal instincts lost in confusion, for 
Splices of energy combine too late; 
Different conditions never conform. 

Time. 

Electro-mechanical vibrating pulse. 
Indicator iirith meaningless system of record 
Advancing a theory of unrest repetition, when 
Applied on call by man, and put aside when non- 
conforming to false manipulation^ 

Time. 

Relative motiomiibnfour dimensions. 

Beyond definition of set word progression; 

Encompasses all that one could imagine as 

an endless conve^r of insignificant pz"&&&ti± ^iri.i.-l.^^ 

Waiting to be l->undl&d. into a ecmposite past. 



-40- 



Judy Belfield 

Ho nky- Tonkin Rhythm 

Honky-tonkin rhythm — 
fast or slow, 
here I go 

movin with the music. 
Pelvic syncopation, 

sway in to the beat — 
shoulder-shiftin , 
torso-twistin — 
here I go; 

keep the flow a comin 
all night, all right, all night long. 
Piano clankin, 

crankin out a tickled tempo — 
grindin at the ivories in my spine. . 
I'm in the hands 

of hypnotizin, tantalizin, 
squeezeryerthighzin vibrations 

that thrumble through my skin — 
Do it again, 
All right! 

Here I go 

all night long. 

$: >fc :fc sjs J/z 

Jason Coleman 

Thwarted Writer 

I make ewer of a tide — it idea. 

For reek over dams , drown I. Dud. 

Alias sign I tail. 

I'm , uh , frustrated art ; 

Sgad 1 Evil I 

So shore , vases , aver — 

Oh i S.O.S. ! 

Lived ages ; knit senile ; no trade. 

Tart surf. 

Humiliating is sail — a dud in words. 

Mad revoke. 

Err of a edit I edit afore. 

T Jeek am I. 



J. D. Guse 
Ignorance Is Bliss 

Contrary to the title, as a young 
child living on the newly purchased 
farm of my parents, ignorance was not 
bliss. Moreover, it was downright 
frustrating! As a ten year old from 
Chicago I felt quite out of place in 
the country. Knowledge was power, so 
to speak, and it was easy to see itfhich 
farmers were the most knowledgable by 
the successfulness of their farms. It 
was this very environment that I felt 
condemned to a life of perpetual ignor- 
ance, constantly chastising myself, be- 
lieving that I would never learn. 

My neighbor was Fred Doncek. In 
'71 , when I met him, I had run the mile 
from my house to his in search of 
Fred's fresh eggs. 

When I arrived I found Fred, faded 
overalls like towels on his thin body, 
standing before a magestic oak in his 
farm yard. Knife in hand, displaying 
baldness beneath a green John Deere 
hat positioned awkwardly above his left 
e&V, Fx'ed cavv^il n vo-rticrlo notch in 

-41- 



Ignorance Is Bliss (c§nt'd) 

the bark, oh so carefully, avoiding the 
uniform notches he had evidently made 
at some time before. In one smoothly 
flowing action he closed his knife on 
his left leg, leaned his head back, 
and spit the excess juice from his chew- 
ing tobacco at the notch he had just 
made. I felt I was on the set for the 
making of the movie "The Life and Times 
of Grizzly Adams." I cautiously turned 
and looked apprehensively for a black 
bear. 

"Yes, lad, wha' da ya need?" 

Off guard, I stammered that I was 
the neighbor boy. 

"Pleased ta meet ya. " Came the re- 
ply. 

"My mom said I could buy a dozen 
eggs here. " 

I waited patiently while Fred 
limped to the garage with the use of a 
gnarly home made cane. It was a minute 
or two before he returned, basket in 
hand, with the comment, " r Jell let's go 
see what we can find. " 

I turned and looked behind me, 
illustrating so effectively the classic 



Ignorance Is Bliss (cont'd) 



Ignorance Is Bliss (cont'd) 



"Who me?" reply. 

"C'mon." he blurted. 

A certain urgency filled my thou- 
ghts. I found myself running to his 
side. 

I smelled Fred's tobacco now as we 
walked past his rabbit cages tox^ard the 
two chicken coops that had seen better 
days. A rooster strutted ever so ele- 
gantly in the presence of his well es- 
tablished haren of hens. Then, with 
one agile spin, he claxjed the ground 
and repositioned his feathers at the 
sight of an intruder. 

"Oh, go on." demanded Fred, and 
the rooster quickly gathered a few po- 
tential mates and scurried off to a cor- 
ner of the fenced in area. 

"Watch the ground, 'cause some-o- 
them hens lays 'em where they wants." 

I accurately deciphered his com- 
ments lowering my head to watch my feet 
as I tripped head first over the thres- 
hold of the second coop. Catching my- 
self on the far wall of the one room 
structure I heard Fred ask, "What hap- 
pened?" 

"I tripped." I said. 

Fred turned to look, laughed and 
said, "lour mama won't know ya if ya 
come home smellin' like that." 

I glanced down and my eyes reveal- 
ed the dreadful sight of fecal material, 
from several types of chickens, mashed 
into the knees of my once blue jeans. 

"Oh boy." I said, as the smell of 
manure filled my nostrils. 

Fred laughed, again, yet he expres- 
sed sincerity in his comments. "T'resa': 
up at the house. You see if she can't 
do some 'in' for ya. I get the rest-o- 
the eggs. " 

I itfalked, stiff legged, toward the 
door of the building keeping a close 
eye on that treacherous first step cal- 
led the threshold. 

As I robotly paced through the 
barnyard towards the gate, I heard, in 
the distance, a sound like chickens 
laughing along with the echo of Fred's 
bellowing voice. 

"'Resa, do some 'in' for this lad, 
he got a little dirty in here with th' 
chickens. " 

"O.KI" came the reply from the 
house. 

Theresa appeared amidst the iris 
and the roses that decorated the en- 
trance to her small house. Her glasses 
hung lazily off her nose. The curl of 
her white hair set nicely against her 
pale blue flowered dress as she came 
from the house to greet me. Bucket in 
hand, she produced a pair of old work 
pants. 

"Here!" she said. "Try these on 
while I go get some xtfater in this buc- 
ket." 

Reluctantly, I removed my soiled 
jeans for a pair that were probably 
older than I was. I quickly drex<r the 
clean pants on over ray lower £qt&o 
without reali zi :ig T hadn't unfastened 
th© snap* 

-42- 



I handed my jeans to Theresa who 
in turn placed them in the newly filled 
bucket. 

"Come inside and you can call 
your mom and tell her what happened. " 

I walked inside to find a house 
so nostalgic with antiques that my mind 
toyed with the idea of hoxv T old the Don- 
cek's really were. 

"There's the phone." came her con- 
cerned voice. 

With reservation I lifted the re- 
ceiver and began to dial. 

"How could I explain this one," 
I thought. 

The phone rang; the connection 
x\ras made. Before I knextf it mom was 
laughing. I was depressed and Theresa 
saxj that in my face as I struggled to 
keep my pants taut around my waist. 

"Tell your mom you can have din- 
ner here. " 

I relayed the offer and, to my 
amazement, my mother agreed. 

As I returned the phone to the 
hook, I mulled over my present situa- 
tion. 

Here I was in a strange house with 
people I didn't even know. And I x^ras 
in someone else's pants which, by the 
way, weren't at all comfortable. I 
suddenly recalled my parochial school 
days in Chicago. The police officer, 
Officer Friendly of all things, xrould 
enter the room and explain for half a 
day about the evils of strangers. My 
mind focused in on the words "STRANGER 
DANGER. " My eyes searched the room I 
; was in for security. I barely control- 
led my panic. 

My mind clicked back to the pre- 
sent as Fred entered the house. Inside 
the basket he carried was an array of 
some two dozen eggs. 

The door quickly closed behind 
Fred as he asked about my condition. 
"Fine." I said. 
"Get those eggs off the table 
Fredf We're havin' dinner soon." 

I heard Fred mutter something. 
"Women . . . . " he trailed. 

Before another word was said, din- 
ner uas on the table and the three of 
us were seated. The usual informational 
questions were asked. Dinner consisted 
of xfhat looked like spaghetti and But- 
ternut bread. 

Being of authentic Italian descent, 
I quickly evaluated the dinner and de- 
termined that the hostess was not 
Italian. Thus, I asked the inevitable 
question. " T /hat is this?" 

I felt the surprised stare of Fred 
at my back as I sought the reply from 
Theresa. 

"Spaghetti squash." Fred answered. 
I decided not to mention anything 
about the meal and, as it happened, I 
didn't have to. Fred quickly explained 
tho background of the spaghetti squash. 

"It's just like pumpkins or melons." 
he said. 

After dinner, Fred and I had a 



Ignorance Is Bliss (cont'd) 

chance to talk while Theresa dried my 
now faded jeans. 

"My granddaddy had a farm outside 
Chicago. He watched the Chicago Fire 
off his back porch." Fred began as he 
filled his pipe and eased the piece in- 
to his mouth. "Said he could read 'is 
paper by the light. But he never said 
much 'bout it to me; granddad was al- 
ways kind-o-quiet. " 

"Fred, I saw you cutting something 
in the tree out there — what was that 
for?" Tasked. 

"C'mon outside and '11 show ya. " 

Fred moved out of his chair and 
waited for me to adjust my borrowed 
pants. 

We walked to the edge of the yard 
where Fred explained the reason for 
the added notch. 

"Ever 'time I catch a critter 'n' 
kill it, I make 'nother cut 'n that 
oak over there. Then I spit t'bacco 
juice on 'er so the tree don't go bad." 

"Oh." I said, looking doxfn once 
again to notice that the animal was a 
headless turtle of considerable size. 

"I told my kids that when I die, 
I T\ran' 'em to cut that tree down. 
She's been here 's long 's I have." 
Fred was definite in his speech as he 
tugged another breath thru his burned 
out tobacco pipe. 

"Tour pants are done." Theresa 
hollered from the open window in the 
house. 

I ran so fast to the door that I 
almost forgot that my hands were serv- 
ing a much more meaningful purpose. I 
immediately clawed at the belt loops of 
the pants and thus saved myself from 
certain ernbarassment. I decided that 
walking was much less strenuous. 



"The bathroom is by the sink 
there. " 

"Thanks. " I said. 

As I came from the bathroom, Fred 
had returned to the house and x^as plac- 
ing the fresh eggs in old cartons. 

"That'll be 'bout a buck," he ..said. 

I reached in my pocket to retrieve 
the dollar I had put there earlier. 
The wet paper served to embarras me. 
I gingerly held out the crumpled mess. 

Fred laughed, "Seems trouble just 
folloitfs you around. -Tell ya what, " he 
said. "Next time ya come here bring 'n 
extra dollar and ya can pay for the 
eggs then." 

"Thanks Mr. Doncek. " 

"Fred to you." he said reassuring 
me with a handshake. 

I left the house and cautiously 
walked the long mile home. 

Over the years, Fred filled my 
mind with some 90 years of his experi- 
ences. We became good friends, and I 
Xiras invited many a time to the couple's 
house for dinner. 

I regretted going away to college. 
I felt that Fred's knox^ledge was better 
than anything a school could ever offer 
me. 

Last year, upon my return home for 
the Thanksgiving holiday, I passed 
Fred's house and stopped by. 

I called for Fred in the barnyard, 
and thought they must be visiting their 
daughter's family since I heard no ans- 
X'jer. I walked slowly past the house 
and down the driveway to my car. Some- 
thing was different. Looking back once 
more, I saw the oak tree was gone. 



Kevin Jordan 



Homo Ferox 



Who, but Nan, will train animals to kill, 
blind goldfinches so they'll sing at His will? 
Who boils lobsters till He hears them scream? 
Who, but Man, could treat Hen so mean? 
Only Man is dreaded by every living thing, 
Man, on a throne, calling Himself the King! 

There is a blackbird singing in a tree. 
Will it fall silent and fly away from me? 
As I walk down the forest path, slow, 
will the deer flash their tails and go? 

A tiger, gone mad from toothache, will attack outright. 
A cobra, hard-pressed, will in self-defense fight. 
But not a beast, anywhere, will wantonly kill; 
'cept^for his family, to get a meal. 
Man will go out, armed for His liesure, 
and kill anything living, for His pleasure} 

There is a rabbit, nibbling at grass low, 
will it run, in terror, towards its safe hole? 
As I walk by the riverside bank today, 
vby do the v&xy fjjzh dart suddenly away? 

* ^ sf; jjc >}; 



-43- 



• 



Jason Coleman 

Sherwood U.S.A. 
(An Attempt at Song Writing) 

Honey is the root of all evil 
And we ponder if it is legal 
Tender as the buck may be 
It's still hard cash to me 

At the check-out counter the other day 
Found out I didn't have enough to pay 
So with cheap plastic card I stood in awe 
fetching myself steal under the law 

Bureaucratic control is gettin' me down 
Federal Reserves the crummiest system around 
As gold goes up, see the green back fall 
Soon it's gonna be worth no thin' at all 

nothin' at all 
Chorus 

Double menace attacking us now 

Taxation ; Inflation ; Holy Cow 

They steal from the rich and give to the poor 

Don't want Robin Government no more 

Trying to survive we make a mild living 
Charities come around and expect us to be giving 
From standard wage we pay bills for this and that 
You'd make more money on the corner passing the hat 

Currency's short so I'd think it'd be wiser 
To buy a big box spring and become a miser 
Where 1 would live would be anyone's guess 
Far as possible from the I.R.S. 

the I.R.S. 
Chorus 

Everybody knows. . .Everybody knoi\rs... 
Everybody knows Robin Hood has got to go 
Tell it on the mountain and by the sea 
What SHERWOOD FOREST is supposed to be 

Free enterprise system in ball and chain 
And the pressure today is rockin' my brain 
lioulah is everything to me you know 
I only wish that I was rollin' in the dough 

Rollin' .. .Rollin' .. .Rockin' and Rollin ' 
Chorus 

There aint no place I'd rather be 
But you gotta live in dignity 



-kk- 



WORDEATER XXXIII STAFF 



Judy Belfield 
Kristi Carston 

Beth Hawkins 
Dan Miner 
Dave Moore 

John Stobart 



For this issue, to get a submission accepted, 
three of the above had to vote for acceptance. 
For the award winners, only John Stobart is re- 
sponsible. 

Present manuscripts or cover designs for 
Wordeater Number 3^ must be submitted to John 
Stobart in room C 1069 by Dec. 18, 1980. Manu- 
scripts will not be returned. They nay be anony- 
mous. They should be typed. 



WORDEATER WINNERS 
$25.00 Poetry Award: 
JDDY BELFIELD 
$25.00 Prose Award shared by: 
VAL BREUCH 
BRAD HAYES 
For Cover Designs (front and back) $20,00 to: 
CATHLEEEN ALBERT 



LOUDMOUTH McKRACKEN SO DECRIES', via J. Stobart, 
his representative. The preceeding awards are 
for Wordeater 33? this volume. Similar awards 
will be granted for future issues. 



DEADLINE: WORDEATER 3^ - Dec. 18, 1980 

35 - March 6, 1981 

36 - May 8, 1981 



Thanks to all wlio helped collate. 







• I 



?r>7&fo^ *°